Dark of the Moon
by geekmama
Summary: Young Jack Sparrow, First Mate aboard the Black Pearl, plays the hero and wins a most inconvenient prize. Pairing: Jack OFC. Many thanks to Hereswith for editing.
1. Parts 1 to 6

**_Dark of the Moon_ **

**--**** 1: Spoils ****--**

"I saw her first."

"That's a bloody _lie!_" snarled Knacker

It was. And Captain Tobias knew it, too. He cocked a brow and gave his protégé a quizzical look. "That the way of it, Jack? Well, then. To the victor goes the spoils."

With a roar of anger, Jack's opponent was on him, and then it was the clash of steel on steel, the thump, pad, and scrape of boots. In seconds they were surrounded by a gawking, cheering mob, but Jack refused to be distracted. He had to win.

And did. Barely.

Five minutes, maybe, though it'd seemed an hour. Chest heaving, Jack stared down at his bleeding foe, and there was surprise on both their faces.

Jack recovered first. He turned to the girl. Pale hair, pale face. Rough hands holding her. For him. They let her go at his approach.

She gasped as he gripped her arm. He ignored it. "Come," he said, and led her away.

**-- ****2: Normal ****--**

She followed him, perforce, pulled along by the imperative, almost painful hand at her wrist. The bloody horror of the night, the leering faces they passed, the stars wheeling fatefully overhead: all weighed her down, kept her silent but for her rasping breath. An opening gaped in the black deck, and they started down, down into the depths of this monstrous ship, their feet thumping on the steps. Then along a dark, narrow passageway, leading, finally, to a shadowed door.

He opened it and shoved her inside with a hand at the small of her back; followed her in and closed out the remaining light.

There was a scraping sound, a spark, and light bloomed in a small lantern that hung from the low ceiling, illuminating them both. She had backed as far as she could when he'd released her – not far at all in the tiny space. The edge of his cot burned the backs of her legs, and she stared at him, this exotic, dangerous unknown, and he stared back, black eyes absorbing her from head to toe. She set her teeth.

"Sit down," he said, abruptly, sharply.

She hesitated only a moment before complying.

He frowned, thoughtfully. "You'll have to stay here."

She swallowed hard, and nodded.

"Do you want some tea?"

She gaped. "Tea?"

"Aye. I can fetch you some, if you like." He shrugged. "My mother swore by it in bad times. Said it calmed her nerves an' all."

_His mother? _

She burst into tears.

**-- ****3 ****--**

_Oh, bloody hell. _

Jack leaned back against the door, closing his eyes for just a moment. But the distraction of vision was required, really, in order to cope with the grating sounds of feminine distress (bordering on hysteria if he was any judge) and the pain of the cut on his shoulder (shallow, but seeping, and ruining his favorite shirt). So he looked again at his… prize.

Pretty, in a washed out sort of way – or he'd thought so before, when she wasn't weeping -- but too young and tremulous to be of much interest to him in the way she feared. She'd been married though, even young as she was – he could still see the husband's face in his mind's eye, livid with agony, then going slack as the life went out of him, blood pooling beneath the body. Bit of an ass, challenging pirates when he'd a wife to protect. It was her screams that'd alerted Jack to the fight, and when Knacker finished the husband and went for her, well, he couldn't let that pass, could he? Not knowing Knacker's proclivities as he did.

Her sobs were growing less. He groped for a handkerchief, found it, and straightened, holding it out.

"Here."

She peeked up, her pale blue eyes swimming and rimmed with red. Saw what he was holding and let her hands fall, revealing mottled cheeks, quivering lips, and a nose desperately in need of that handkerchief.

She took it from him, and then took her time, blotting her face, blowing her nose, her breath hitching and shuddering all the while. Eventually she glanced up, looking him over again, uncertainly. She cleared her throat a bit and said, "Are you… don't you _like_ women?"

He stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. He was tempted to say, "God's teeth, girl, shall I fetch a mirror?" but, in view of the fact that they would likely be sharing a cabin for some time, he said only, "I like 'em – when they're willing. Which, I presume, you're not. Or have I misconstrued the sudden attack of vapors? Is it just that you don't like tea, then?"

And offended her anyway. She said in a shaking voice, "I have every right to cry. You've killed my husband!"

"Have not. 'Twas Knacker – and it was your fool of a husband that provoked 'im."

"He… he…" But she broke off in evident consternation, unable to acquit her late spouse of this accusation. For a moment Jack thought she was going to commence weeping again, but instead she surprised him by changing the subject all together. "Your _mother!_ And what would she say about you being a pirate? But I daresay she would not object at all and was some… some _horrid_ _low creature_."

Jack's good humor vanished. It must've shown, for he saw her cringe in alarm, her brief defiance at an end. "You," he stated in voice of quiet menace, "will never mention my mother again. _Savvy?_"

She nodded quickly, biting her lip to stop its trembling.

He went on. "I'm going out, to have _this_ seen to." He turned his arm so she could see the wound he'd taken on her behalf, and was pleased when she seemed startled and concerned. But he continued severely, "You'll bolt the door and let no one in 'til I return. I'll knock twice, then twice again, so you know it's me. And if you're slow to open it for me, or get up to any tricks while I'm gone, _you will__deeply regret it_."

She stifled a sob.

He pointed an accusatory finger and snapped, "And no crying while I'm in the cabin."

She nodded again, looking a bit frantic.

He nodded, too. "I'll bring you some tea."

He left, then, and shut the door, and was pleased to hear the bolt being set a few seconds later. But then a wail of despair was heard, followed by a fresh series of loud, choking sobs.

_Bloody hell._

**-- ****4 ****--**

_Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!_

But God was far from her indeed this night. Her back against the cabin door, she sank down to the sole and drew her knees up, rocking and sobbing.

_Stupid, stupid Brian!_ She was suddenly furious that her husband had gotten himself killed and left her in such a fix.

And just as suddenly felt horridly guilty for thinking it. Her sobs increased accordingly.

Thank goodness that pirate had taken himself off after placing such an unreasonable prohibition upon her, for how could she help but weep?

She shuddered and hugged herself tighter, the horror of her capture and the sword fight racketing through her brain – and the foundering, sinking _Eliza Mae_ forming a nightmarish backdrop.

_Full fathom five, Brian is, just as in Shakespeare. We could have been in the longboats with the others, together and alive. _

_Oh, Brian!_

Anger and grief assailed her again. And fear. For she was now in the power of… of… _that man_. A pirate.

But an unexpected one. That had to be admitted. Perhaps he had some hidden motive in his offer of tea. He would drug her, maybe, and take her while she lay helpless!

Although he hadn't seemed entirely anxious to… dishonor her. In fact, she would almost say he'd been annoyed.

She took a deep, shuddery breath and gave a watery sniff. Groped for the handkerchief again.

Tea. She could use some of that – if not something stronger! But no, she must keep her wits about her. The pirate – Jack, was it? – was dangerous, and cunning, too. Very different from her big, blundering, tow-headed fool of a husband. _Dear fool_. No, this… _Jack_… was barely taller than she was herself, and seemed young, but he was also dark, sharp, deadly. Polite, but that could be a mask. Yes. She must keep her wits about her.

She blew her nose.

**-- ****5 ****--**

"_Bill!_"

Bootstrap turned and grinned. "Jack! That was fast! Didn't I tell you to slow down and _take your time_ with the ladies? I'm tellin' you, mate, it makes for a better experience all around…"

"Oh, shut up!" snapped Jack, testily. He lowered his voice. "I've barely laid a hand on 'er and she's weepin' fit to be tied! Y'don't think I could bunk in with you and let 'er have my cabin 'til we're rid of 'er – I'd still be close that way…"

"Martin's in with me and there's barely room to breathe," said Bill. "The cabins are full up – you know that! You could swing a hammock with the lads, but then who'd keep an eye on her, eh? No, Jack. You've won her, now you get to look after her."

Jack groaned.

Bill chuckled. "Not as _convenient_ as you'd imagined, I'll lay. That was a good fight, though. How's the shoulder?"

"Still bleedin' all over me shirt. Will you help me with it?"

"Let's see it."

Jack undid the ties on his shirt and pulled it aside, baring the cut which was high up on his left arm.

Bootstrap took him and pulled him around to the lamplight, the better to see it. "Doesn't look too bad, but like you said, it's still bleedin'. Best have the surgeon look at it."

"The _surgeon_. He's little better than a butcher, as you're aware. Be a good lad and bind it up for me, eh? It'll be all right."

Bootstrap, considering Jack's assessment of the surgeon's skills a just one, acquiesced.

They met the captain as they crossed the deck. "Jack! Through with 'er already, are ye?"

Jack smiled grimly. "I'm fetchin' 'er tea. And Bootstrap'll take care of _this_ for me." Jack turned his shoulder, showing off his wound.

"Let me see that," frowned Tobias, and took Jack's arm. He ignored the roll of Jack's eyes, as well as the flinch and hiss of indrawn breath Jack couldn't quite hold back as he carried out the examination. "Hmm," Tobias said, finally. "All right, then. Bill can take care of it. Clean it with rum, Bill, and don't give 'im more than a nip to drink – wouldn't want to impair his abilities with the lady, waitin' for 'er _tea_ an' all." He winked at Jack, and then chuckled at Jack's grimace of disgust.

"Thanks ever so much," Jack said sarcastically.

"Don't mention it, lad. That was a good fight. Yer a devil with a sword when yer heart's in it. Knacker'll likely live, by the way, in case you were interested."

"Wasn't aimin' to kill 'im, just to keep 'im off the wench."

Tobias nodded. "Which is why I permitted, as you know full well. That Knacker!" The Captain shook his head. "May have to see if we can't get shut of 'im when we get to Cartagena. He can find another ship there, easy enough. Bloody fool, bringin' a wench aboard. An' if 'e'd done for you I'd've slit his throat meself."

Jack did smile a bit at that. "Thanks, John."

Tobias winked at him. "Aye, well, just you take it easy with the lady, now. There'll be no slackin' just because you're entertaining a guest. You'd best _pace yourself_, savvy?" His dark eye twinkled at Jack's expression and he took himself off, chuckling.

Jack turned to Bootstrap, who was making a heroic effort to keep a straight face. Jack ground his teeth. "Bill…"

Bill cut him off, in a voice shaking with laughter. "Come on, lad, let's do that arm so you can fetch her that tea."

**-- ****6 ****--**

The wind was coming up. She could hear it, faintly, whistling through the shrouds, intensifying the creak of wood and rope and the low booming sound of the water against the hull. Feel it, too, in the increased motion, and the tilt of the cabin. It was all so oddly familiar, all just as it had been aboard the _Eliza Mae_.

She clasped her hands together, huddled there on his cot. The ship must be moving quickly now, away from where her husband and the _Eliza Mae_ rested beneath the waves; leaving behind the longboats and their burden of good, honest men. Her lip quivered and she sniffed; dabbed at her nose with the damp handkerchief, and took a shuddering breath. Though God seemed far away, she began to pray for them anyway. And for herself.

Some time later she roused with a jerk. There was a sound of booted steps approaching from without. She must have been asleep! How _could_ she? Heart thumping, she scrambled off the cot and immediately fell to her hands and knees with a cry as the ship gave a sudden lurch.

The knock came – _twice, then twice again_. She staggered up, silently cursing her hampering skirts, and to the door, where she held back, afraid, just for a moment. But there was no choice. She jerked the bolt free.

"Open it, will you? M'hands're full," came his voice.

She did as he'd asked, then scuttled back into the corner of the cabin. He walked in and she gasped aloud. He was _naked!_

Well, shirtless, at least. But her breath caught in her throat even at that, her eyes irresistibly drawn to the smooth, muscular chest and arms, and the flat belly, all deeply and uniformly bronzed in the light of the little lantern. His long, dark hair, which had been tied back before, now hung loose, down past his sculpted shoulders, and there were bits of shine tied into it, coin, bead and bone. Swirls and patterns of ink adorned his skin, and some scars too. The whole effect was utterly barbaric and… and _beautiful_. Her cheeks flamed.

She forced her eyes upward, to meet his dark ones (which also shone disconcertingly amidst the eyeblack he affected), and blushed deeper at his expression: an arched brow and an imperfectly suppressed smile.

"Sorry, love," he said (not sounding sorry at all). "Taylor offered to wash an' mend the shirt for me. Couldn't pass it up."

"Oh," she said. _Love._ She frowned. He sounded different, the edges of temper and voice smoothed, his speech slurred. And that _look_. She suspected he'd been imbibing strong drink. She watched him warily as he set his burdens down.

These consisted of two wooden buckets. "Brought you some fresh water, and look here: I found you a chamber pot!" He picked up the large pewter vessel, the bottom of which had formed a makeshift lid for the water bucket. He presented the homely object to her with something of a flourish.

She accepted it with a muttered, "Thank you."

"Just shove it under the cot there, at the end," he said with the wave of a hand. "You'll be glad of it after you drink this." From the other bucket he withdrew an etched silver flask, a bulky cloth-wrapped packet, and finally a covered tankard. "Your tea, ma'am."

She felt a little glow of pleasure, in spite of her fears. "You did bring it!"

"Told you. There's sugar, too, if y'like. An' some biscuit an' dried fruit to go with 'em. But--" He gave her a teasing, sideways glance. "There's a price!"

The glow faded. "A price?"

"Aye. Your name."

"Oh," she said. "It… it is Mrs. Granger."

"Ah."

He looked amused: as well he might be. It seemed absurd to insist on formality in such a situation, but she had no other defense against whatever wiles he chose to practice upon her.

Which he continued to practice, immediately. He bowed in a very courtly manner, saying, "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Granger. Jack Sparrow, First Mate of the _Black Pearl_, at your service."

At her service! "Are you?" she said, her heart thudding at her boldness.

"What?" He straightened abruptly, hair swinging, and frowned.

"At my service?" She trembled as his good humor faded.

"I'd say so, considerin'. I may be wrong, but I'd wager a good bit on the chance Knacker's attentions wouldn't've been to your liking. I've made an enemy there, and am rewarded with the loss of my cot and half my cabin to a whey-faced chit who won't give me leave to call her by her Christian name. Not to mention _this_." He touched a hand briefly to the neat white bandage on his upper arm. "And," he continued, pouting, "I've provided you with not only tea but a _bloody chamber pot_, in spite of the jibes and taunts of my fellows."

His offended petulance seemed so unpiratical that her lips quivered against a smile. "Were you much hurt?" she asked, nodding at his bandaged arm.

He shrugged, as though hiding stoicism with nonchalance. "They say I'll live." He looked down his nose at her, again, the heavy-lidded eyes accusing.

She supposed it was time for a little plain speaking. "You're… you're not going to… _ravish_ me?"

He sighed, much put upon. But then he fixed her with an appraising look and said, provocatively, "Depends on your definition of 'ravish', I suppose. But no, I've not yet been reduced to forcing the issue with females."

She felt her cheeks burning again, and pursed her lips. _Dreadful man! _"You have not drugged the tea, then?"

"_Drugged the tea?_" His increased exasperation was everything she'd hoped for. "You, madame, are…"

"It's Lettice, " she interrupted.

He was thrown off his stride. "What is?"

"My name. It's Lettice. You may call me Letty."

"Ah. Letty."

"And I am _not__whey-faced_."

He smirked, annoyingly. "Well, you are. But I daresay you'll be better for some tea. Drink up, love, and I'll swing a hammock. I've the watch at dawn so it's lights out soon as you're done."

_**TBC**_


	2. Parts 7 to 9

**-- 7: Silly --**

Jack roused just before dawn with an inward groan. _What a night._

In wary silence he eased himself from the hammock and stood on the cold sole, staring daggers at the curled, curving, blanket-wrapped bundle of trouble on his cot. Sleeping the sleep of the innocent, she was. _Hah!_

That she could hardly be blamed for a propensity to seasickness he refused to acknowledge. Thank God she'd only drunk half the tea last night, and had declined his offering of food out of hand.

"_Oh! I__couldn't!_"

He'd shrugged, impatient at such dramatics. "Shall I help you with your things? Your corset an' all. You can sleep in your shift." He'd mostly kept his leer at bay as he'd made this magnanimous offer -- wasn't as though he'd really take advantage of the situation -- but she acted as if he'd made some lewd suggestion.

"No," she said, bluntly. "I shall sleep in my clothes."

"You're going to wear those all day an' all night?"

She seemed daunted for a moment, then defiant. "Yes."

Exasperated, he'd sworn under his breath and said aloud, "Suit yourself."

Which was all well and good until a couple of hours later, when the _Pearl_ was rocking more vigorously and he woke to the sound of frenzied bumping and scraping, followed by moans, and then a horrid retching. _Damnation!_ He rose, groggily, and fumbled with the lantern, getting it lit by the time she was finished and reduced to tearful whimpering.

"Bloody hell! What _the devil?_" She was sitting on the sole, face dead white, hair all ends, and a good bit of the sleeve of her wrinkled gray gown damp and stained where she'd missed the chamber pot.

"I'm s-sorry!" she gasped, in great distress. "I… the _tea_. And… and the _waves!_"

And the corset! He set his teeth, quite furious with God and the wretched girl, both. He went to her. "Get up!" he growled, compelling her with a firm grip on her arm.

"Ow! Oh! _Oh! _What are you d-doing? L-let me g-go!"

"You're getting out of those clothes -- that _corset_ --- _now!_"

"No!" she sobbed as he turned her about and undid the ribbon lacing of her dress, but, whether from weakness or fear, she made no other objection.

When the dress was untied he pulled it from her shoulders. "Take it off while I do the corset," he commanded. Quivering with misery, she slowly obeyed while he unlaced the constricting undergarment. He placed no faith in her continued cooperation and launched into a muttered scold designed to badger her into compliance. It worked like a charm. She shoved the dress down her arms and over her hips; he removed the tortuous corset himself, grimly noting her evident relief; and finally he even got her shift off (the rejected tea having soaked through that as well), leaving her in naught but her lace-trimmed drawers and gartered stockings.

She'd wept throughout, of course, but hadn't resisted much, and now stood gulping and shuddering, trying to shield her slight breasts from his gaze. A truly pitiful sight, she was. Though his intentions were of the purest (or nearly), he felt ashamed, and it made him angry. "Stay there," he snapped. She nodded, snuffling dejectedly as he fetched a shirt and handkerchief from his chest, and soaked a rag in fresh water.

She did not meet his eyes as he cleaned her up. "Right. Put this on." He pressed the shirt into her hands, and she took it and turned away, trembling as she struggled with it. He freshened the rag, then helped her with the shirt and pulled her 'round to face him again. "Look at me."

She raised swimming eyes to his, her mouth skewed, tragic. But there was a little color in her cheeks at least. He wiped the tears from them with the damp, cool rag, eyeing her narrowly. "Going to be sick again?"

"N-no. I don't think so." She pressed her lips together, and her gaze fell away. She sniffed, wetly.

He gave her the handkerchief and while she blew her nose he tidied up, tossing the soiled clothing into a corner and shoving the chamber pot back under his cot. Then he straightened again. "All right. No more of this. We're going to get some shut-eye, you an' me."

She nodded.

"Good. Off to bed, then_. Move!"_

She scurried, as though afraid he'd smack her (which, he had to admit, was a tempting thought: she'd a nicely rounded arse in spite of being on the thin side). There was a bit more subdued weeping as she squirmed about, struggling to bury herself under the tatty blanket. But she had the handkerchief, still, and was quieting even as he snuffed the lamp and settled himself in the hammock again.

"Good night, Mrs. Granger," he said, with pointed formality.

"G-good night, Mr. S-sparrow."

Three hours ago, maybe. Jack grimaced, looking at her now, face all flushed and peaceful with sleep. _Silly chit._

He dressed, half hoping she'd wake while he was doing so, just for the fun of shocking her. Got out his little mirror and touched up his eye blacking. Then stood, and with a last, almost disbelieving glance at his exceedingly inconvenient guest, went out to greet the new day.

**-- 8 --**

Letty was alone when she woke, and was most thankful for this circumstance as memory returned, first a trickle, then a veritable flood. She moaned aloud. _Widowed!_ And captured by _Pirates!_

Tears stung her eyes again as she thought of her murdered husband. They had been so happy, only a day ago! And now Brian was gone and all their plans laid waste. Whatever would she do with her life? She was utterly ruined! What man would want her when she had been the captive of such men as inhabited this ship?

Men who would frighten and tease for the pleasure of it. Men who would bring one tea and then berate one for being ill when the weather turned foul.

She knew she might have been in a much worse case, and yet it was the reality of what had happened in the night that caused hot mortification to course through her, and then anger.

And then panic, as she heard someone approaching from without. She curled up in a tremulous ball and closed her eyes. Perhaps if she laid very still he would think she was still asleep and leave her be!

The intruder entered, shut the door, and approached. There was a silence, and then a voice came, sing-song, so close she could feel his breath in her ear. "Good morrow, Letty Granger. I know you're awake!"

Her eyes flew open and she shrank from him. He was wearing that self-satisfied expression again, and his breath smelled of spirits! At this hour!

"You've been drinking!" she blurted.

"Only a wee nip," he said, momentarily widening his eyes and assuming mask of sad guilt. But then he grinned, crookedly, a tooth flashed gold, and he smacked her blanketed hip as he rose to his feet again. "Come on, get up. Reed's coming to clean the cabin, and I've promised him extra for doin' your gown an' things. You can wear this, in the meantime."

He held up a mass of bright red, trimmed in wide, white lace, sorting it out and holding it up in front of him.

Letty stared in astonishment at the dress. "It's enormous! And… _red! _I can't wear red"

"Whyever not? Oh! Widow's weeds, eh? I'm afraid we've none on board. This'll have to do. I know it's a bit sudden, an' all, but trust me: this was the best of the lot. And the smallest. Unfortunate we didn't get your trunk off the _Eliza Mae_ before she sank."

_Unfortunate!_ She glared at him. "I shall stay here. I cannot wear such a garment in public!"

"You can and you will," he returned, smoothly, but with a hint of steel. "The captain wants to see you. Would you like me to help, as I did last night?"

He would force her to do his bidding. She said, resentfully, "You were _horrid_ to me last night."

"Was I?" he said with spurious sympathy. "My apologies. But I assure you, I can be much horrider."

She thought perhaps he could, though somehow she did not believe he would be so with her. Still, she did not like to test this theory. "Very well. Go outside and I shall get dressed."

"Right." He shook an admonishing finger. "Remember what I said about any tricks, and opening the door quick when I knock. I'll be right back. I've just remembered where I saw a nice tortoise shell comb and brush amongst the swag. You'll be needin' it: you look a right quiz with your hair like that."

She felt herself flushing hotly at this insult, and the feeling only increased as he chuckled and swayed out the door in great good humour. As soon as he'd closed the door she leapt from the cot and threw home the bolt. How she wished she could shut him out forever!

**-- 9 --**

"Oooh, bringin' 'er gifts already, eh?" Pintel simpered and batted his eyes at Jack.

Jack grinned. "She needs these. Trust me."

"Mussed 'er 'air, did you? An' what's that other for? Thought the captain 'ad 'is eye on that for Mother Comfit."

"Did he?" Jack considered the black and gold silk shawl over his arm. "Letty won't hurt it."

"Letty? That her name?"

"It's Mrs. Granger to you, mate." _And to me, too_, Jack thought as he walked away, though he'd not enlighten Pintel, or anyone else, on this point. Best they thought she was his, in all the ways that mattered, while she was aboard the _Pearl_.

He trotted down the stairs and along the dim passage to his cabin door. Listened, just for a moment, but detected no evidence of distemper. He knocked briskly.

There was a shuffling, then Letty's voice: "Who… who is it?"

_Oops!_ "Sorry!" called Jack, and repeated his knock: _twice, and twice again_. The bolt was drawn, and the door opened, and Jack gave a snort of stifled merriment. She'd put on the dress and taken the pins from her hair, and she looked like nothing so much as a gorgon in a red sack.

Letty was seen to grit her teeth. "If you laugh at me, I'll… I'll _kick_ you!"

A spark of liveliness?

He fanned the flame with a deliberate chuckle, and then did laugh when she came after him, as promised, bare feet not withstanding. _Yaller hair, scarlet cheeks, and that red dress: too bloody much!_ He danced away from her, delighted at the effect he'd produced, until her foot grazed his shin, got tangled in the voluminous skirt, and she tripped with a cry.

He caught her, awkwardly, and hustled her back into the cabin, slamming the door shut.

"Let me go!" She struggled out of his grasp and faced him, breast heaving – quite a sight, considering the dip of that neckline. She noted the direction of his gaze quickly, though, and hastily clutched the loose material, pulling it up toward her neck.

Jack kept his amusement at bay with some effort. "Doesn't fit, quite, does it?"

"I look ridiculous!"

"No! Well, maybe a little. But we'll make it right. See what I've brought you." He held out the shawl, and the comb and brush, but when she didn't take them he set them down on the cot. Then he went to his chest. "Just a minute – I think I have… _here!_" The length of material he was seeking was near the top. He held it up, triumphantly. It was a beautiful thing, black shot with every color of the rainbow including real gold thread that glinted in the faint light, and long enough to wrap 'round his own waist twice with plenty to spare.

Her eyes widened.

"Turn around," he instructed, with a wave of his hand.

She seemed uncertain, but complied.

He tossed the makeshift sash over her head, settled it at her waist, and proceeded to tie it in back, adjusting the excess material of the dress as he did so.

"It's… very bright," she commented.

"So's the dress. It's the best I can do, for now. There!" He gave the dress and sash a final few tugs, then turned her about to face him, eyeing her critically. "Very suitable for a pirate's wench."

"The neck is much too low! And I am not a pirate's wench. I'm a pirate's _captive_."

"_I_ know that, and _you_ know it, but it'll be best if the rest of the crew think we've come to an accord, as it were. Here." Jack took Mother Comfit's shawl and draped it over Letty's shoulders, knotting it at the front. "Modesty is thus preserved," he said, solemn as a judge – or nearly.

"Thank you." Letty tried to peer closely at the shawl, and spread her hands over the skirt of the dress, which really was of a very beautiful brocade.

"Not at all." Jack frowned, considering her. "We should address the hair."

She put her hands up to the pale nest. "I tried to straighten it."

"With your fingers? It looks it. Use the brush, eh?"

She made a face at him, but did as he'd bade her. He made himself useful, straightening things a bit, but a minute later there was a rap on the door.

"It's Reed, come to do the cabin," he told Letty. "_Hang on, mate, she's nearly ready_. Here, love, give me the brush."

"I can do it! And I wish you will not call me 'love'."

"'Darlin' then? Give over the brush: you're takin' too long."

"No!"

"Yes!" He caught her about the waist and tickled her. She gave a shriek of surprise and dropped the brush, which he quickly snatched up. "Hold still."

She folded her arms in front of her. "You… you're… that was most unfair!"

"_Pirate!_" He bent and breathed into her ear, "But you can return the favor any time."

She sniffed. "I shall wait until you're asleep."

"Oh, cruel!" he chuckled.

He was good with hair, and the tangles soon began to sort themselves out under his careful ministrations. It was a long while since he'd done this, and then it'd been for his mother, whose dark tresses had been much thicker and easier to brush. Letty's long hair was very thoroughly "mussed", pale as moonlight, fine and soft: the rough skin of his fingers kept catching in it. He persevered, however, from the wispy ends up to her scalp, brushing it back over her pretty ears, pink and shell-like.

Her cheeks were pink, too, and no wonder really: it was intimate work. She stood still and silent, but he could see her hand where it lay against her leg, the tapering fingers moving against the fabric of the dress. He was sorely tempted, but resisted the urge to bend and kiss her cheek for he wanted her trust more than that brief sweetness against his lips.

When her hair finally lay smooth in his hands, he swiftly and expertly divided it and braided it into one thick plait down her back, tying it with a bit of black cord.

"This'll save it from the wind. It's blowing steady today."

She turned to him and almost smiled. "Were you a lady's maid in a past life?"

He thought briefly of telling her of his mother. But no. In a low, provocative voice he said, "There're other ways to gain a familiarity with the fairer sex, lass."

"Oh," she said, and looked away.

He frowned, but just then there was a renewed rapping at the door, and Reed's voice called, "_Mr. Sparrow?_"

"There he is," Jack told her. "Hurry and get your shoes on. The captain's waiting for us."

**-- TBC --****  
**


	3. Parts 10 to 12

**-- 10 --**

Trepidaciously, Letty followed behind Jack Sparrow, ascending the dim stairs up toward the light of an incongruously sunny and warm day. As he emerged before her, onto the black deck, into the fresh, breezy air, he turned and offered her a hand up the last steps. She took it, too readily.

"The captain won't bite, lass. I promise."

She glanced up to find laughter in his eyes, and flushed but did not smile.

Climbing up to stand beside him, she glanced around, nervously. There were a few men visible, the majority going about their duties, a group playing at dice in the waist, one grey-beard sitting in the sun near the bow, carving something. It was a very different scene from the previous night, when the ship and its crew had seemed like something out of a terrible nightmare. A vision of her poor husband being sliced open flashed across her brain, and she gasped for a moment, swaying.

Her hand was let go, and her arms caught firmly. "Letty!" Jack gave her a slight shake.

Recalled to the present, she quavered. "I forgot, for a little. When you were brushing my hair."

His hands tightened. "You won't forget. Trust me. And I'm sorry for it."

She frowned, for she saw that he was quite serious for once and she could not help but think it odd that he, a pirate, would feel so. But she finally took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Better?"

"Yes."

"_Jack!_"

Letty turned to see a man approaching, warm sympathy on his handsome face as he met her eyes. He was a little taller than Jack Sparrow, a little older, and far less piratical in appearance. Why, his shirt was quite obviously homemade, a sort of teal blue with black embroidery around the cuffs!

"Are you going to introduce me?" he asked Jack.

"'Course! Letty… er, Mrs. Granger, this is William Turner, esquire, known as Bootstrap Bill aboard the _Pearl_. He's quartermaster here. Found me that dress you're wearin' actually."

"It looks very well on you, ma'am," said Mr. Turner, with a slight bow.

Letty knew this was untrue, but bobbed a curtsey anyway, eyes cast down.

"Reed's cleaning the cabin," Jack Sparrow said. "You havin' a bite with us, Bill?"

"No, still accounting the swag – begging your pardon, ma'am. I'm sorry you lost your husband last night. Not to mention having to bunk in with this young varmint."

"Eh?" said Jack, sharply. "None o' that sauce, Mr. Turner, if you please." Letty was startled at his tone, but her protector's lips seemed to be holding back a smile.

"No sauce, just the plain truth," averred Bill. "You tell me if he doesn't treat you properly, ma'am, and I'll have _words_ with him." He winked at Jack, nodded to Letty, and took himself off.

"Hmmph." Jack scowled. "You'd think occasionally he'd remember I outrank him now."

"You're old friends?"

Jack laughed shortly. "Aye. Too old. Still sees me as wet behind the ears, when the truth is I've been on the _Pearl_ near as long as he has. We've been through a bit, ol' Bootstrap an' me. Stories that'd curl your hair." He eyed her. "But those are for later. You all right now? Shall we repair to the Great Cabin and enjoy a convivial meal with the finest captain in the Caribbean?"

"Is he?" asked Letty, somewhat startled at this encomium.

"Aye, he is. Until _I_ make captain, of course."

Letty couldn't help being amused at his certain air. "Does he know of this plan, to step into his shoes?"

Jack Sparrow raised a brow. "Of course, lass. Now come on." He took her hand, his own very warm and strong around her cold one. "Right this way, an' steady as she goes."

**-- 11 - 'Purchase' --**

Tobias heard the familiar knock and called, "Come!" Jack entered with the girl, then shut out the glare of the bright day.

Inside the Great Cabin all was dim and cool, though the stern windows let in plenty of light with their velvet draperies drawn back. Plenty of light with which to assess the state of his first -- none the worse for that slight wound and little sleep -- and of their guest, who looked rabbit-scared.

Tobias stood, as did his second. Barbossa drawled, "Jack! I heard you'd acquired a comely lass, but I see that ain't the half of it."

Jack gave Barbossa an amused glare, and addressed the girl. "Mrs. Granger, Hector Barbossa, second mate aboard the _Pearl_. And this is our commander, Captain John Tobias."

Mrs. Granger's eyes flicked between them, then fell as she gave an agitated curtsey, which they returned with bows of their own. Tobias turned to Hector. "That'll be all. Send Bootstrap in when he's got the count done."

"Aye, Captain." Barbossa inclined his head to the newcomers. "Jack, Mrs. Granger, if you'll excuse me?"

"By all means," said Jack, deceptively mild.

Barbossa gave a pleased smirk and, as he passed close, said to Mrs. Granger, "May I extend my sympathies on your recent loss, ma'am."

She colored, face frozen, and muttered something unintelligible.

Tobias growled, "That'll be _all_, Barbossa."

Hector turned and winked at his captain, then took his leave.

_Cheeky bastard_.

"Pray have a seat, Mrs. Granger, and you, too, Jack. We've much to discuss over a bite and sup."

They all took places at the laden table, Jack dealing with the lass courteously, as was his wont. Only Tobias, and maybe Bootstrap, knew much of Jack's origins, but hints of it would be evident to anyone who cared to scratch that fey, devil-may-care surface. Tobias chuckled inwardly at his first's efforts to coax, then bully Mrs. Granger into taking nourishment. She consented to sip a little wine from one of the fine goblets that graced the table, and nibbled on a slice of the week-old bread they'd found on the _Eliza Mae_, a heavyish fruit and nut affair, but the rest lay untouched on her gold plate. Jack finally gave it up and set to on his own behalf with the hearty appetite of youth.

The girl watched and listened covertly as he and Jack talked of ship's business while they ate. She wasn't much, a colorless little dab of a thing. Not at all in Jack's usual style. That'd teach him to go about playin' knight errant.

Tobias finally pushed his chair back and said, "Well, that was a fine repast, thanks to the well-provisioned _Eliza Mae_. I'm right sorry things turned out as they did for her, and for you, ma'am. 'Twasn't my intention when we set out, but these things happen." Mrs. Granger colored and pressed her lips together, but said nothing, so Tobias went on. "There's nowt can be done for the ship, nor your husband, and the others are likely most of the way to Curaçao where the Dutch'll no doubt give 'em aid. What remains is to see you safely delivered to your people, for I doubt an extended sojourn on the _Pearl_ would be to your liking, or to Jack's." Jack gave a slight bark of laughter at this, and Tobias smiled. "Aye. Well. The _Eliza Mae_ was journeying from Bridgetown to Port Royal, that much we ascertained. What was your husband's business on her, lass? Were you visiting friends or family?"

Mrs. Granger wet her lips, and said, "We had just come from England, to my husband's uncle in Bridgetown. He is a merchant there, and my husband was to help him by establishing a new office, in Port Royal. We know no one else here in the Caribbean, only my husband's uncle and the few people we met while we stayed with him. He… he had never seen me, until last month. He has no real attachment… and now…." She broke off, her voice suspended by tears.

"Letty!" Jack admonished.

But Tobias said, "No Jack, she's in the right of it, maybe, though that's something we'll have to put to the test. At least she's someone to go to. What's his name, lass, your husband's uncle?"

"Huff. Mordecai Huff."

Jack's brows rose, and Tobias himself felt a shock of delight. "Mordecai Huff. Of Huff and Leighton Shipping?"

The girl, sensing their sudden excitement, looked from one to the other, but finally said, "Y-yes."

Jack gave a low whistle. "An heiress, no less."

Mrs. Granger turned to him, angrily. "I'm not! I am of little account to Mr. Huff. Less than that, now. He'll… he'll think…"

"Now, lass, peace," said Tobias, in a kindly voice, trying to keep the glint from his eye. "There's every chance he'll take our word when we assure him of your safety, and I don't doubt he'll go to some lengths to keep you that way, bein' his poor nevvie's widow an' all."

"Lengths? What sort of lengths? W-what do you mean to do?"

"Why lass, only offer the man the opportunity to reward Jack here, and his comrades, who saved you from worse than death at the hands of that Knacker. Knacker's recovering down in the brig, by the way, and we'll see the last of him when we make Cartegena. And after that we'll hie straight to Bridgetown – or near enough to send word. Wouldn't want Mr. Mordecai Huff to fret, now would we?"

Mrs. Granger stared and gasped, a bit like a fish out of water. Then she burst out, "You mean to ransom me! He won't pay!"

"Oh, lass! That can't be. Just think what his colleagues and customers would say. No, you're too modest. But we'll wait upon events. Ten days or so, then we'll know what kind of man is Mordecai Huff, and what his fair niece is worth to him."

**-- 12 - 'Unaware' --**

"Letty! _Letty!_" Jack strode across the deck after her, then ran and caught her arm.

She turned, swiftly, and boxed his ear.

"_Ow!_" he yelped, and grabbed her wrist before she could do it again.

"Let me go!" She kicked him.

He shook her, quick and hard. "Stop it! 'Twasn't my idea…"

"What does that matter! You made no objection! _None!_ Let me _go!_" And she wrenched from his grasp and ran to the companionway that led to his cabin.

_Their_ cabin. Good God. He hesitated, half inclined to leave her to fend for herself. He heard some chuckling around him which he ignored; but then she disappeared down the stairs and he suddenly lit out after her, cursing a blue streak as he followed in her wake.

She lost her way. He searched for her for an anxious few minutes, and finally heard her, a squeak and a "_Jack!_" from the wrong direction. He sped up, and found her on quite the wrong deck, in a dim passage, up against a wall, and Mr. Twigg a-kissing of her, full on the mouth. Jack grabbed the blackguard by the collar, jerked him about and decked him with a fist of iron, fury lending him strength, though he retained sense enough not to pull a knife. Then he turned to Letty, who was cowering away. He scowled at her, and took her arm, and dragged her behind him, to his cabin.

_Their_ cabin.

By the time they arrived her anger had returned. "I hate you!" She struggled, trying to wrench her arm away, but he held it fast and caught her other wrist as well, so she couldn't hit.

"The sentiment's entirely mutual, ma'am," he snapped, "and ol' Huff ain't rich enough to make up for all this. I bloody told you not to go anywhere on this ship without me, didn't I? _Didn't I?_" She didn't answer, just gave a gasping sob, her face crumpling. _Bloody crying again!_ He shook her, felt like thrashing her – _Give you something to cry about!_ Where'd he heard that? His father, maybe? He shuddered, horrified that anything of his father should be in him, buried deep.

He opened the door of the cabin and pushed her inside, letting her go. She scrambled away and onto the cot, as far from him as she could, her eyes full of resentment and fear, tears streaking her cheeks once more.

There was no use in defending himself. They'd be daft not to hold her for ransom. Mordecai Huff! One of the wealthiest men in the West Indies. They'd be daft… but he still felt guilty, somehow. She was something more to him than an annoyance, a convenient hostage. What that was, and what it would mean to either of them, he didn't know. And didn't care to think about now.

He ground his teeth, her wailing intolerable. "_I told you: no crying when I'm in the cabin!_" And he slammed the door on her.

**-- TBC -- **


	4. Parts 13 to 16

**--13--**

Letty had a great deal of time to consider her situation that afternoon because Jack Sparrow did not return to the cabin. This pleased her, at first. She was furious and frightened and wanted nothing more than to be left alone to soggily lament her situation and the perversity of Providence.

What past sin had she committed that merited such terrible punishment? She had tried to lead a blameless life, assured by her well-meaning but obviously misinformed parents that the straight and narrow path was the only road to happiness. And look, just look where that advice had landed her.

To be sure, she knew what they would have said, were they alive to see her now. Apparently, in her heart of hearts, she was not blameless at all. Though modest in appearance and circumspect in behavior, at her core she was a wicked creature, rotten, like an unblemished apple that is cut open to reveal corruption within.

And, God forgive her, it was true! All too true.

She turned onto her side and lay curled there, on Jack Sparrow's cot, remembering her deceased husband. Killed in her defense. Though he might have known he hadn't a chance against such men.

Oh, see? That was the sort of thing that revealed her for what she was: thinking ill of Brian, who had only ever been a good husband to her.

The truth was that, in spite of all the care she had lavished upon him, she had never really loved Brian, not in the blindly worshipful way her mother had assured her was a wife's duty. She had tried and, when that failed, had pretended, but it could not be done, not completely. She had found him annoying, in small ways: his abrupt manner with the servants, for instance; or his contempt of her small but beloved collection of books. "What does a woman need with such things?" he'd once scoffed, though he'd let her keep the volumes anyway, as long as she'd restricted her reading to times when he was from home.

That was one thing she'd liked about his uncle. Mordecai Huff had a library, and was actually pleased that she'd appreciated what a treasure it was. They had that much in common, at least, though she didn't believe it would move him to pay a ransom for her.

She considered Brian again. It was only fair to enumerate his finer qualities. He'd been a hard worker, and generous with her allowance and the household expenses. He'd preferred good plain food, clothes, furniture. Plain in bed, too, though he had not been overly demanding, thank Heaven.

She gave a halting sigh. She must be a cold creature, as well as corrupt.

She shuddered, reminded of that horrid, open-mouthed kiss that had been so recently inflicted upon her. "Well, if it ain't Sparrow's bit o' skirt!" was all the preamble she'd been offered. She'd shrieked as the wretch had forced her back against the bulkhead, and had been surprised to find that it was Jack's name that had emerged from her lips. Thank goodness Jack had heard her, and come hotfoot to the rescue. How glad she had been when he'd hit that man. But then he had turned accusing, dark eyes on her, as though it were her fault he'd been forced to assault another crewmate. And it was not!

Not really.

Not… entirely.

She squirmed, and sniffed dolefully.

They were not to be trusted, none of them. But she could not but acknowledge that Jack had surprised her. He looked every inch the pirate, more so than any of his fellows, save his captain, perhaps … and yet his hands upon her, as he'd helped her dress that morning, brushed her tangled hair, were as gentle as Brian's had ever been on the rare occasions her husband had done such things for her. And Jack's words to her… he teased, yet there was a level of understanding behind his words that startled her.

No. She did not hate him. Perhaps she would apologize for saying that. She was, after all, dependant upon his protection and good nature while she remained on this ship; moreover, it had been a lie, told in the heat of the moment. And so she would tell him, as soon as he returned.

She did not expect him right away, so she rose and looked about her. The cabin had been made tidy and smelled only faintly now, of wood and tar and the sea. There was the rolled up hammock under the cot, and the chamber pot, clean again, and Jack's chest lay at the foot. She stared at it, considering if she should open it and investigate the contents – she had glimpsed some interesting things within when he'd fetched the sash for her. But he might not like her doing so, and he was already angry. The sound of the door slamming still echoed in her ears.

She lay down on the cot, once more. The ship swayed sweetly as it sailed on calmer seas; the light was pleasantly dim. Presently, exhausted in body and more settled in spirit, she was lulled to sleep.

**--14--**

_Twice, then twice again_. No response. So he repeated the knock, louder.

There was a noise of movement, and the lady's voice called, "Wait! Just a moment." More shuffling, bumping and scraping. And then, finally, the sound of the bolt drawn back and the door opened.

Her expression of nervous hope vanished with remarkable speed. "M-mister… Turner?"

"Just Bootstrap's fine, ma'am. Jack asked me to come down to light the lantern, and bring you a bite of supper."

"Oh." She held the door open. "Could he not come himself? Were his duties too pressing?"

"Aye, that's it," Bill said, though he was glad to have something to do besides look at her while telling her such a barefaced lie. He set the little tray of food down on the sole, out of the way, and then busied himself with lighting the lantern. But when he finished, and turned to her, he frowned at the worry on her face. "Are you all right, Mrs. Granger?"

"He didn't want to come, did he?" The sad, slightly quavering words were more statement than question.

Bill sighed. "He'll come about, lass. He's just young. Not used to ladies who're…"

"Watering pots?" She tried to smile, but failed.

"Understandably upset," Bill corrected. "But you've landed in good hands, ma'am. Jack's a scallywag, through and through, but he's a good man as well – he'll do right by you, you may lay on't."

"They spoke of trying to ransom me. He and the captain."

"Aye. Jack told me. And that you don't believe your husband's uncle will pay?"

She shook her head. "What will they do if he does not? Do you know?"

A vision of the Bride's Auction on Tortuga flashed through Bill's mind. Which was certainly preferable to the slave markets of Port-au-Prince. But, no. "Jack'll take care of you, Mrs. Granger. After all, he won you, fair an' square. Don't worry, lass. He'll think of something."

**--15--**

The night was lit by a sliver of moon, a blanket of stars, and many lanterns: the three great lights on the heavily carved transom, with its trident-bearing mermaids; more at the bow, and along the gunwales, and tipping the lower yards. Music filled the air, the scraping of fiddles, the screeling of pipes, the rhythmic boom of the great African drums. Rum, and laughter, and dancing were the order of the evening, and Jack had been indulging in all three. Bootstrap's report had greatly lightened his mood, making him most susceptible to the celebratory spirit prevailing on the _Pearl_.

"Wonder what Mrs. Granger would think of all this?" Jack nudged the smiling, but more subdued Bill.

"Think we're a bunch of right savages, no doubt," Bill grinned.

Jack chuckled. "Already thinks that. At least we're _entertaining_ savages, eh?" He shouted and clapped approval of Angus Fife, who'd just favored them with an energetic jig and was now taking a bow. The drums started in again. "I'm off!" Jack tossed Bill a wink and sauntered rhythmically across the deck to join a number of crewmates in an impromptu display of terpsichorean prowess, letting the music capture him and take him where it would. He'd shed all but his breeches, for the night was a close, calm one, and the sheen of cooling sweat on his bare skin, the swing of his hair, the lovely loose feel of his strong, supple body moving in time with those drums was utter delight, and fascinating to those who watched. He had few illusions and little modesty about the God-given gift of his appearance, or about it's potentially transient nature, given his profession. It was a tool, to be used along with his other gifts, quick wits, quick sword, bending men and women alike to his will.

And speaking of women…

"Damnation!" he said aloud. There was that bloody nuisance of a chit, fair head and wide eyes just visible above the level of the deck where she stood on the companionway steps. The eyes widened further as he started toward her, pushing his way between the other stomping, swaying bodies. By the time he caught sight of the companionway once more she'd disappeared. Without hesitation he gave chase.

He could hear her scampering down the steps, and he was quite sure she could hear him descending, too. Even fast as he was, she got to the cabin before he did, shoving the bolt on the door to as he arrived. He gave a low, rum-soaked laugh and called softly, "Oh, Mrs. Granger!" and gave the correct knock, most deliberately. There was a lengthy pause, and then the bolt was drawn slowly back. She retreated as he opened the door and stepped in.

"You," he said, advancing menacingly, "were wandering about the ship again, 'gainst orders!" He caught her arms in his hands, enjoying her startled gasp, then stumbled a bit, and she ended up pinned to the bulkhead. Almost as he'd found her with Twigg earlier, though he noticed she wasn't squeaking now. He tried not to smile. "I daresay you remember what the penalty is for that."

"W-what?" she said, breathless.

"W-what?" he mocked, and grinned crookedly. "Why a kiss, of course." And he slowly set his lips to hers. She gave a whimper, but though she fluttered a bit, she did not try to escape, and presently he sensed her acquiescence. His gentleness made the transition to thoroughness, and he released her arms and gathered her close… very close… too close, for she began to stiffen and pulled away.

"Jack!" she said, pleading. But not crying.

He said, softly, "Too much, then?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Hmmm." _Damned shame_. He kissed her on the nose. "Just remember for next time, eh?"

He let her go, and she straightened, facing him rather shyly. "I'll remember. I… I'm sorry I hit you."

He shrugged. "We'll do better tomorrow, won't we, lass? I've talked to the crew. They'll leave you alone, I think. P'rhaps you can come up on deck in the morning, if you like. Say… what's this?" He'd turned and now saw the books that lay on the cot, one of them open. "You've been in my things!" he frowned.

"You didn't come. And I had nothing to do. I didn't disturb much -- these were near the top of the chest."

"Aye. Swag from the last ship we stopped, before the _Eliza Mae_. You like to read, then?"

"Oh, yes! That is… if you don't mind."

"Don't mind the reading, but stay out of my chest, savvy?" He shook his finger at her, but then added, "I can get you more books, if you finish those. Don't keep many in the chest. Usually pass 'em on to the captain. He's got more room for books."

"Is he still determined to hold me for ransom?"

Jack sighed. "Seems so. And it's the piratical thing to do, ain't it? But we'll see. Plenty of time to worry that problem down the road a bit."

"Yes." There was silence between them for a moment. Finally she said, "The drums have stopped."

Jack cocked his head. "So they have. Time for some shuteye. I'll go fetch me things –'twas a warm night for dancing." He winked at her, and went out, and did not hear her quiet reply.

"I… noticed."

**--16--**

Letty woke just as Jack Sparrow was leaving the cabin the next morning. Drowsily, she became aware of his booted feet moving quietly about, then heard the slight creak of the cabin door as it opened, then shut again. _Gone_. Her eyes blinked open to pale predawn light.

As she had on waking the previous day, she lay remembering, though, to her chagrin, her deceased husband did not play the central role in this exercise. She pressed her lips together and felt a hot wave of color stain her neck and cheeks. That kiss! How could she have let Jack do it?

Although the more pertinent question was, how could she not?

She frowned, at both the memory itself and at the disconcerting bodily manifestations that were undeniably associated with it, and increasing by the moment in spite of the knowledge that it was so very _wrong!_ This, she knew, had to do with the fact that she'd been consumed with thoughts of him all night. Though she'd been tired, his close proximity as he snored gently, cradled in his hammock so close beside her, had precluded easy sleep; and when she had finally pushed him forcibly from her mind and dropped off, he'd insinuated himself into her dreams in a way that left no doubt about the true nature of her feelings in his regard. Only hints and flashes of these dreams remained to her now, but oh! They were enough. More than enough.

She clenched her fists, firmly resisting the urge to run her hands along the contours of her tingling flesh. Ridiculous! Absurd! He was a pirate, a criminal! And… and why would he be attracted to _her?_ She knew herself to be moderately pretty, but she'd never really been of interest to men. Her marriage had been an arranged one and, though it had worked out well, she had no illusions that Brian's love for her had been anything but perfunctory. She didn't blame him. She had little conversation, and flirtation had always been quite beyond her.

And yet, Jack Sparrow had kissed her, and with every evidence of pleasure.

Groaning, she curled onto her side and let her thoughts stray where they insisted on taking her.

Back to the curiosity and longing that the sound of those drums, that wild music, had awakened in her last evening. She had been fearful, and most cautious leaving the cabin, but the lower decks were deserted and she had gained the top of the steps, the big square of starlight and lamplight that let in the cool night air. Heart thudding, she had peeked above the level of the deck. At first she had not seen him – nearly the entire pirate crew was gathered in the waist, a great press of men, milling about, reclining, talking, singing, laughing. So many… she was prepared to bolt back to the cabin at any sign of detection. But then a raucous tune ended with the screech of a fiddle and a new sort of music began, the sort that had drawn her up from the safety of the cabin: drums, low and deep and loud enough to feel in the reverberation of the deck, in the air, in her bones. And then she had seen him.

She had not thought him handsome that first night when he had challenged and then fought the man who had killed Brian. Not handsome… but she was too terrified at first to think about _what_ he was. But last night, when he had joined some of his crewmates in the dance, he had seemed so different from them, so fey and graceful, his movements sure but imbued with something that spoke of… freedom. And joy, too: his laughter, his dark flashing eyes, his expression of delight, all indicated a rare pleasure in life, and in the moment. And in that moment, the word that came to her to describe him was _beautiful_.

And then he had caught sight of her and, hair rising, she had remembered what else he was.

She had not stayed to see whether or not he followed, but clambered down the steps and along the shadowed passages, praying she did not lose her way this time. She did not – but even as she reached the door and wrenched it open, she was aware that he was nearly upon her. She'd slammed the door and pushed home the bolt and stood panting, then jumped violently at his call, sing-song, again, and slurred with drink: "_Oh, Mrs. Granger!_"

And then the foreboding knock. _Twice, then twice again_. He had been drinking a great deal, she suspected, and they had parted in anger earlier… but his words echoed in her head: _if you're slow to open it for me, or get up to any tricks while I'm gone, you will deeply regret it. _Well, she had gotten up to tricks, hadn't she? And as for opening the door…

Biting her lip, she had slowly loosed the bolt and backed away as he came in. His dark eyes were alight with mischief. But not anger, now. Yet, he seemed to loom over her as she shrank from him, the deeply tanned, half naked body glinting like gold in the light of the lantern, his perfection reminding her of a statue she'd once seen of some heathen god. He'd spoken, but she'd barely been cognizant of his words, only the sound of his voice, a rough-edged murmur laced with laughter. A threat. A promise. His elegant hands closed about her arms and suddenly her back was pressed to the bulkhead. For a panicked moment she was reminded of that other, earlier assault on her virtue. But this time it was Jack, informing her she was to be kissed, and going about it with such delicious care… not hesitant at all, but giving her time to adjust to the notion, to the touch of his lips and tickle of his moustache… to the wet, sweet taste of rum and gold. And Jack.

Oh, God!

She had never in her life been kissed like that.

His arms had slipped around her. All so easy. He drew her close, one hand sliding down to caress, then press against her backside, making her mouth open further on a tiny gasp, which he'd seemed to view as an invitation of sorts. And it had been, for she'd not only allowed this intimacy, she'd begun to return it, like some wanton.

But then, finally, it had been too much. She could feel him, fancied she could feel even the heat of his arousal through the several layers of cloth as he moved, sinuous and demanding. It would not do, she was in no way prepared for this…

When he had released her, she had been surprised, and most relieved.

And… disappointed.

But what was that he'd said? _Just remember, for next time, eh? _

Oh! He was wicked! Threatening her with such a form of retribution.

Why, if she were not a very good and easily cowed sort of female, she would be planning how next to earn it.

Which thought brought first a tiny smile to her lips, then a chuff of laughter, then more hot color to her cheeks, and she drew the tatty blanket over her head. The blanket that smelled, just faintly, of Jack.

**o-o-o **

**TBC **


	5. Parts 17 to 19

**-- 17 --**

"How's Mrs. Granger?"

Jack, who'd been cheerily haranguing the morning watch, turned to Bill. "She's good," he said, fighting down a reminiscent smirk. "Quite good, actually."

Apparently he hadn't fought hard enough. Bootstrap's brows twitched together. "Jack! You didn't!"

Jack rolled his eyes a bit. "Don't get yer tail in a twist. I kissed 'er, is all. Nothin' wrong with that." He saw that Bill wasn't having this and added, defensively, "You kiss Mary—"

"She's my _wife!_"

"—among _others!_"

Bill flushed. "That's just a bit of fun, and you know it! Mrs. Granger ain't some lightskirt."

Jack chuckled. "No," he agreed.

"Then why'd you do it?"

Jack scowled, suddenly. "Bloody hell, Bill, what's it to you? You know I won't hurt her. Or don't you trust me?"

"Not sure I do in this pass. Might be too much of a temptation, havin' her so close. Sounds like it already is. And she was _willing?_"

There was patent disbelief in Bill's tone, but Jack couldn't really argue with it. "Well… 'twasn't her idea. But she didn't raise a fuss. Not at first. I left off when she did."

"Well, thank God for that!"

"Enough!" snapped Jack, annoyed. "You know what sort of man I am. And she's under my protection!"

"Just see that you remember it," Bill returned, annoyed himself. "Aye, I do know what sort of man you are: a bloody great flirt, an' don't tell me different. The poor lass doesn't stand a chance. You need to be wise for the both of you and keep your distance, as much as you can."

Jack cocked his head, considering. He'd never been much for wisdom that curtailed his desires. But he said, peaceably, "I'll think on it. You'll just have to trust me, Bill, all right?"

Bill shook his head. "Don't break her heart, Jack. She don't need that on top of everything else."

"It was a kiss, Bill. Nothing serious about it, and I won't try to persuade her otherwise, you may lay on that."

"No, but you won't have to, will you?" Bill said. "Like I said, I know what you are, Jack. Have a care."

**-- 18 --**

Letty arose betimes. She discovered that her own clothing had been cleaned and was waiting for her, laid over Jack's sea chest. Even slender as she was, however, the binding of the corset was necessary for the dress to fit properly and it was not possible to don that tortuous garment without assistance. Therefore, although she put on her own shift, she again took up the heavy red brocade and white lace dress she'd worn the day before, making an effort to adjust it with sash and shawl so that she did not look a complete quiz. When Jack rapped on the door of the cabin, she was nearly finished.

"Just a moment!" she called, and tried to complete her adjustment of the knot on the shawl so that it covered her bosom adequately, then patted at her hair, which she'd pinned up as best she could.

"_Letty!_" came his impatient call through the door. He rattled the latch.

"Coming!" It would have to do. Heart thumping, she went to let him in.

"About bloody time!" he growled as she opened the door.

There was a most disconcerting scowl on his face and her tentative smile faltered. "I'm sorry. What is it? Is… is something wrong?"

But, after rapidly assessing her appearance, his eyes returned to hers and his expression softened. "No. Bill put me in a temper is all. Thinks I shouldn't've kissed you."

"You _told_ him?" Letty blurted, quite horrified.

"He guessed something'd happened. Filthy mind, has Turner."

"_Oh!_" Letty put her hands to her burning cheeks.

Jack gave a crooked smile. "I set him straight, but I daresay he's right. I won't do it again."

"Oh."

"Even though I liked it excessively."

"Oh!" She reddened further, not least because she felt a most inappropriate urge to say, "I did, too!"

But he seemed to know that without her saying it for his smile broadened and he chucked her lightly under her chin. However, he said only, "The hair's not quite so bad today, but you'd better let me braid it for you if you're coming on deck. It'll be blown to bits if it's just pinned loosely like that."

"All right," Letty agreed mildly, thankful to turn away from his knowing gaze. She stood quietly, enjoying the feel of his fingers gently plucking out the pins, then the long, easy strokes of the brush, followed by the skillful way in which he formed the long plait down her back.

He finished tying off the end. "That's got it." He turned her to face him once more and made further adjustments to the shawl. "You need a hat: that bit of a nose'll get burnt." He touched the "bit of a nose" lightly with one long finger, which made her blush again. "I'll set Bill to finding something suitable. That'll show 'im. Come on, then. I'll take you up."

**-- 19 --**

Bootstrap found a hat for Mrs. Granger in short order, then spent much of the day observing with considerable misgiving Jack's seduction of his guest.

Not that either of them would've put it that way. Bill could hear Jack now: _Just doing me job, mate!_ Never mind that this entailed a whirlwind of activity designed to show off his strength, agility, skill in leadership, and knowledge of all things nautical.

It was true that he was always like that, which is why he'd been made first at the ripe age of twenty-one, wasn't it? And yet, with Mrs. Granger looking on, his knack for showmanship came out in spades. He seemed to be everywhere at once – the breeze was fickle that day, requiring a great deal of adjustment to the yards and sails. The men on watch took his harrying of them in good part, and were exceptionally deferential to the lass – Jack'd put a bug in their ear about that last night: apparently there'd been some nonsense earlier involving Twigg, who now sported a right nasty bruise on his jaw and had been shifted to the mid and morning watches.

Mrs. Granger sat on a coil of rope in the warm sun and watched Jack's perambulations with rapt fascination. And when he paused by her side, which was often, Bill could see that she was all pink cheeks and wide blue eyes, stammering over her replies, smiling some, and once or twice even laughing at something he'd said.

And Jack's own smile was much in evidence during these exchanges, like a shark that scents blood in the water.

Tobias had Jack, Mrs. Granger, Barbossa, and Bill come to the Great Cabin for the midday meal. The lady seemed uncomfortable and ate very little, in spite of Jack's solicitous attentions. Conversation had rarely been quite so decorous at the captain's table. Barbossa looked sardonic, and excused himself at the first opportunity.

Mrs. Granger retired to Jack's cabin for several hours in the afternoon, but when evening brought the winking stars and a golden moon, Jack brought her up to walk the deck with him for a space, his steadying hand under her elbow. The entertainment that night was far more sedate than on the previous, and the _Pearl_'s edges softened and gilded in the kindly light.

Bill shook his head. That there was an accord being formed between the two was obvious. It was a dangerous business for the lass, though she didn't seem to suspect there might be shoals ahead. Bill made up his mind to talk to her in the morning.

Mary'd expect it of him.

----

TBC


	6. Parts 20 to 21

**-- 20: Odd Occurrences --**

The _Black Pearl_'s night music, the shush or rush of wind and wave, the varying creaks of rope and stay and the very wood of her, were soothing as a lullaby to Jack, her rhythms a part of him, like the beat of his heart, like the tide of blood through his veins. The ship spoke to him – had done since he'd first laid eyes on her – and when he took his ease she wove her dreams through his own, murmuring endearments, or demanding his attendance upon her cares and needs. He'd soon grown used to the usual sounds of the crew, the pounding of heavy feet, the faint calls, shouts, occasional laughter or curses. But sounds that were out of the ordinary, that some instinct told him spoke of trouble, had the power to rouse him from the deepest slumber.

His eyes opened to blackness. It was at least two hours before dawn. The ship sighed, calm and sleepy around him. But something had woken him…

And there it was: small, hitching sob, quickly muffled.

He gave an inward groan.

A bit of careful shuffling, and squirming. Silence. Then a watery sniff, and another sob.

"Letty!" he hissed.

There was a tiny, frightened intake of air, and then nothing, as though she was holding her breath. He scowled at the dark, waiting. Sure enough, there came a gasp that turned to a louder, shuddering whimper.

"_Letty!_ What the devil's wrong?"

"N-nothing!" She sniffed again, trying to be quiet about it.

He ground his teeth. "Letty, _what's wrong?_ You ain't crying for no reason!"

"I c-can't _tell_ you!" More subdued weeping.

"You were fine when I blew out the lamp." A thought occurred, and he said more gently, "Is it that husband of yours? D'you miss him?"

"_No!_" This was followed by a disconcerted moan. "I mean… _no_, it's n-not that."

He smirked slightly, but growled, "Well, what then?" She did not reply, merely continued weeping, and finally his patience was at an end. "Letty, do I have to get up and shake it out of you? The sea's calm as glass: you can't be ill."

"I… _no!_ I…"

"_What?_"

"_I've started my courses!_" she wailed, and began to sob in earnest.

It took a long moment for the sense of this to penetrate the obliviousness of Jack's youthful male brain, but when it did the result was electrifying. "_What!_" he exclaimed and sat bolt upright, quite forgetting he was in the hammock. Uncaring, it tossed him to the floor with a painful thud, something that hadn't happened to him since his first week on a ship.

He swore vilely (inspiring Letty to squeal in fear), sprang up and fumbled about, trying to light the lamp. Having got it lit, however, he merely stood there for a minute, staring in outraged disbelief at the quivering, blanket-shrouded mound of _bleeding female_ before he turned tail and slammed out of the cabin.

He reached Bootstrap's door in record time, but looked about surreptitiously before he knocked, light but firm. "_Bill! Bill, wake up!_"

The call was low, but urgent, and it brought Bill to the door with little delay.

"What's toward?" Bill frowned sleepily. "Ship's all right?"

"No. I mean… yes." Jack glanced 'round again, and lowered his voice even more before continuing. "It's Letty."

"Letty?" Bill frowned deeper, suspicious. "What've you done to her?"

"Not _me!__God's teeth_…"

"What then?"

Jack hesitated a half second, then said in a whispered growl, "_She's started her courses!_"

Bill's brows shot skyward and, to Jack's fury, he sputtered and then roared with laughter.

Jack scowled at the noise and shoved Bill into the cabin, following and closing the door. Martin was out on watch, fortunately, so Jack was the only immediate witness to Bill's unrestrained, and unappreciated hilarity. "_Shut up!_" Jack snapped, as Bill collapsed onto his cot. "What in hell should I do?"

Bill wiped a tear of amusement away as he gained some control. "Oh… oh, Lord, that's givin' you your just desserts, ain't it?"

"I beg your pardon?" said Jack, outraged.

"Oh, don't act innocent with me! I saw you today, playin' 'er like a fish on a line."

"Was not!"

"Jack!" Bootstrap subdued his mirth and lifted an accusing brow.

Jack scowled. "Well, maybe a bit. I won 'er, didn't I? And play's all it was. But what do I do _now?_"

Bill ran a hand through his hair, considering. "Look: you go get her a bucket of fresh water – she might want to have a wash. I'll go hunt up the rest. Some clean rags; a stack of bandaging from the surgeon's chest would work, maybe. Some rum, too – Mary likes a nip the first day or so. Takes the edge off fine, she says. Lord, you'll have to come up with considerable largesse for Reed. He won't take kindly to doin' _that_ sort of laundry."

Jack rolled his eyes, feeling an immediate need to change the subject. "Right. I'll go get the water then. Shall I leave it by the door? You can talk to her when you fetch the… the rum, an' all."

Bill laughed again. "It's not _contagious_, Jack!"

"Aye," said Jack, doubtfully. "But you're _married_. You'll know what to say."

"You better figure out what to say right quick, unless you plan to abandon her for a week."

"A _week!_"

"Maybe. They're all different, of course. Mary's lasts about five days."

Jack stared. Then straightened. "Rum," he said, decisively.

"Aye?" Bill's lips quivered.

"Takes the edge off. Smart woman, your wife."

"She is, that," Bill agreed, with a wry smile.

"Right, then. I'll bring the water. And thanks, Bill. Don't noise it about, eh?"

"Reed'll know."

"I'll take care of Reed. _Considerable largesse_. And _rum_. That'll do it."

Bill grinned. "Whatever you say, Jack."

**-- 21 -- **

Somewhat to Letty's surprise, Jack Sparrow returned to the cabin within half an hour. He entered with caution and another bucket, eyeing her askance where she sat, huddled on his cot, clutching a well-used handkerchief.

"Brought you more water," he said. "Bill thought you might need it, and he's fetching the…er…other things."

"_Bill?_ You _told_ him?" Fresh tears of consternation sprang forth, and she said, angrily, "Do you have to tell him _everything?_"

"Had to tell him _this!_" he protested. "He's married."

Letty rolled her eyes, much as her captor was wont to do when exasperated, and blew her nose once more. "I need another handkerchief," she snapped, and glared at Jack.

"Uh… right." He quickly set the bucket in the corner and went to his sea chest. Finding the required objects, he tossed her two, then damped a third in the clean water and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, in a tight little voice, replete with chagrin. She had never in her life been so embarrassed. Even her wedding night paled in comparison.

It was apparent that Jack felt a similar degree of discomfiture. Having been stripped to his breeches for sleep, he now proceeded to don the rest of his odd garb as quickly as possible, clearly intending to escape his infested cabin with all due haste.

Letty watched him, anger and misery warring in her breast. "I can't help it, you know," she said at last, as he took up his hat.

He looked at her, such a muddle of conflicting emotions on his own face that she didn't know if she felt more like weeping or laughing.

"A _week?_" he asked. She frowned, nonplussed, so he clarified. "Bill said it'd last a week. Is it true?"

"Oh. No. I… four days, usually. But… only the first is… difficult." She colored, her cheeks burning.

"Ah!" He nodded, but did not appear to be much comforted. Then there was a rap on the cabin door and his relief was comically obvious. "That's Bill. He'll take care of you. Good man, Bill. I'll just take meself off."

He was abandoning her. Letty's lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears again.

"Now don't look like that!" he pleaded. "I'll be back…" The rap was repeated. "…later."

He put on his hat, opened the door, and said, "Thanks, mate!" to Bootstrap Bill, then shoved past and strode away, the sound of his boots fading down the passage with remarkable speed.

Mr. Turner seemed amused, then sympathetic as he caught sight of her. "There now, lass, don't fret. I've brought the necessities, and if there's anything lacking I'll hunt it up for you."

The "necessities" were presently revealed to include an early breakfast: the ubiquitous ship's biscuit ("Weeviled by yours truly; you'll be glad of a change when we get to Cartagena."), dried fruit, and rum in a battered flask. "For medicinal purposes. My own wife takes a nip now and again, at that time of month."

"Jack told me you are married," Letty said, curious about the tippling Mrs. Turner and hoping he would elaborate.

"Aye. I've a little son, as well. Back in England."

"A son!"

"He'll be five years old next month. I'm hoping to get back to see him, and Mary, by the end of summer."

Mary. "Does she… do she and your little boy… _know?_" It was a prying question, and Letty steeled herself, in case he should take offense.

But he didn't. He looked rather rueful, but replied, evenly, "That I'm a pirate, d'you mean? Well… not precisely. I think Mary suspected it, last time I was home. I'd been able to send her more money, and then I brought her a few nice trinkets. But she didn't ask, and I didn't tell. She still sends me letters, and my shirts."

Letty smiled. Bill's shirts _were_ unusual, in color, cut, and trim. They were a target of hilarity for Jack, who was inordinately proud of his own sartorial cunning. But, now that she knew their source, Letty thought that Jack was missing the point of Bill's preferences. "They are very beautiful shirts," she said.

Bill laughed. "I think so, too. She likes to experiment with her dyes, and different trims. They're a little bit of home for me, y'see."

Letty nodded. "Thank you for bringing all those things for me, Mr. Turner. I… I'm afraid Jack…"

"Jack's up to the mark in most things, but this little development was more than he'd bargained for. But don't worry, lass. He'll come around."

Jack didn't come around, though, until the long, uncomfortable day had passed.

Bill checked on her a couple of times, dragging the reluctant Reed with him once. Together, the two men cleaned and straightened the cabin, and Reed hauled off a sack of soiled linens, muttering darkly.

Letty had further recourse to the rum after that. The sips she took from the little flask burned all the way down and then settled, radiating a pleasant glow that did much to assuage both pain and anxiety. Mrs. Turner was in the right of it, it seemed.

The wind had picked up during the morning, making their passage rougher. Bill had said that this was why Jack was unable to visit her himself: the ship and crew needed the constant attention of the First Mate. Letty only half believed that this would keep Jack away all day.

But as night came on, the seas calmed, and the wind shifted and steadied. Letty, having dozed off after a plateful of stew and another few sips from the medicinal flask, roused sleepily as someone entered and closed the door. Jack, she thought, the sound of his movements familiar to her now, but she did not open her eyes and was almost asleep again when she felt the tickle and brush of his lips on her cheek.

She did open her eyes at that, to find him crouched close beside her. His face was shadowed in the dim lamplight, but his lips curved, and his dark eyes were warm.

And he had been drinking.

Well, so had she. She turned her head on the pillow, and said, muzzily, "I thought you said you weren't going to kiss me any more."

"Did I?" he said, his beautiful voice smooth and soft as velvet. "Must've shot the cat. What would I say that for, eh?"

Letty gave a little chuff of amusement, even as her eyelids drifted south.

"You feeling better?" he said, his breath on her cheek.

"Mmmm… yes."

"Good," he replied, and Letty smiled at the touch of his fingers, smoothing back her hair.

**_TBC _**


	7. Parts 22 to 23

**-- 22 --**

Letty slept peacefully that night, so it should have followed that Jack did, too. However, on waking in the dark just before dawn and his call to watch, bits of his dreams wove through his memory, fleeting, vivid and full of his troublesome cabin mate. Only, in the dreams, she hadn't been troublesome, precisely.

There was that smile she'd given as he smoothed her hair, just last night. And there was that look of combined laughter and shy admiration, the one she'd worn the other day, when he'd been recounting some of his more daring exploits. Eyes wide, pretty blue as the seas hereabouts; the breeze tugging strands of pale gold from her braid that drifted about her face; nose and cheeks pink from the sun, lips a deeper shade: coral maybe. And then there was another dream, something darker, a rhythm of drums and thumping blood, of controlled force and delicious surrender, and was that fierce need returned to him, just for a moment, surely he'd not mistaken it?

Oh, he'd take advantage of _that_, given the least chance! And he had an idea it would be worth all the trouble, too. _Take it_ _slow_, that's what'd workwith her, the kind of _slow_ Bill and Tobias had teased him about that first night. He was well practiced in _taking it slow_, thanks. Lord knew he'd had enough opportunity, with all sorts of girls and women. Who was he to deny them what they wanted, when it was exactly what he wanted himself?

_You need to be wise for the both of you_. The admonishing words echoed and, moreover, held the resonance of truth. Bill should know, certainly, his idyll with the staid Mary having been the stuff of high drama. It had ultimately turned out well for the two, or as well as could be expected. They loved each other, that was beyond question, though Mary had to share Bill with his other love. It was Mary's tragedy, the same one that'd been reenacted by women throughout history, every time man laid down the plow to follow the Siren's song.

The sort of love that was between Bill and Mary wasn't in the cards for Jack. He enjoyed the easy, superficial banter of a flirtation, or the headier excitement and comforts of an _affaire_, but when it came down to it his heart and mind were given to one lady only: the _Black Pearl_. He was hers. And, someday, she would be _his_.

And the pretty little Widow Granger, for all her seeming innocence and theatrical flights, had an odd streak of practicality, too. A flirtation, aye. An _affaire_, perhaps. Jack had chosen to play knight-errant, protecting her from harm, but she knew what he was, and that he and his captain would soon be contacting Mordecai Huff regarding suitable compensation for said protection.

Jack frowned. The idea of ransoming Letty held little appeal for him, though the captain seemed set on it.

Later that day, when he and Tobias were going over Bootstrap's accounts in the Great Cabin, Jack casually broached the subject.

Tobias lifted a quizzical brow. "Growin' _fond_ of 'er, are you lad?"

Jack chuckled. "Aye, a bit. She's _surprising_, in certain ways."

His mentor grinned. "Oh, that kind _are_, don't I know it? But be careful how you handle 'er. Make sure she understands the rules before you go playin' that game. As for the ransom, think Jack: the more Huff has to pay, the more certain he'll be we've guarded her proper, neither used or misused her in any way. Don't have to be _entirely_ true. Even if you bed her, the girl won't say anything as long as you treat her well – which I've no doubt you will. So where's the harm?"

Jack saw the logic in this, and yet, against all reason, he still could not like the scheme. But he did not tell his captain. He'd not disappoint John Tobias for the world. And besides, there was every chance that something would occur to him, something that would allow him to avoid disappointing Letty, as well.

**-- 23 --**

"Wake up, lass! We're goin' ashore!"

Letty struggled to sit up, only to be knocked back against the pillows again in her effort to catch a flying bundle of… _men's clothing!_ "What's all this?" she demanded of her grinning captor. That smile! He was entirely irresistible—and knew it, too. She felt a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks, much to her annoyance. How obvious it must be that she was attracted to him!

"Your disguise. Best they don't know you're a woman. Might offer you some insult an' then where'd we be?"

"I've no idea," she replied, tartly. "Fighting a duel, perhaps?"

But Jack nodded. "Precisely."

_He would, too!_ she thought, staring. "Perhaps I had better stay on the ship."

"There's a _market_," he said, tempting her. "And _players!_"

"Players?"

"Troop of actors, here for the festival. It's some saint's day or other and the town's awash with minstrels, jongleurs, fire-eaters, acrobats. Not to mention the market's three times the size it usually is. You've come to visit Cartagena at the right time, lass. Get up! Put on that gear and let's _go!_"

Letty, whose eyes had widened as Jack enumerated the delights in store, conceded defeat. "Oh… very well. Go out and I shall get dressed."

"You're sure you don't need help?" he said, all innocence.

She pursed her lips and, pretending an imperiousness that was entirely foreign to her nature, she stretched out a commanding arm and pointed at the door. "Out!"

He chuckled, and swept an elegant bow. "Yes, ma'am." He straightened, adding, "I've still to find you a hat anyway, and I'll be back to do your hair."

"I am fully capable of brushing my own hair!"

"I daresay, but I like doing it. It's little enough, when I've given up my _bed_ to you."

He didn't bother waiting for a reply, but went out and closed the door. Just as well. She had felt obliged to object, but the truth was she enjoyed his ministrations in that area, having little patience for it herself. Her hair had always seemed a horrid penance to her, fine and easily tangled as it was, and her scalp so sensitive that grooming it had ever been a daily torture. How strange that this man, this _pirate_, should have the careful skill to avoid hurting her when no lady's maid, or even her kindly old nurse, had ever learnt the trick of it.

She rose, set the bolt, and dressed as quickly as she could. She had never in her life donned men's clothing and she felt as though she was doing something most scandalous. The dark breeches and linen shirt were a little large, but looked well enough when covered by the coat, which she loved immediately. It was of beautiful blue material trimmed with black braid and silver buttons, and its weight and sway pleased her mightily. She took it off and set it aside while she put on the stockings Jack had brought, and her own shoes. Then she picked up the brush and had begun to struggle with her hair when Jack returned.

She let him in and stood back, and felt an odd frisson throughout as his gaze swept over her.

"Not bad at all!" he remarked, dark eyes alight. He tossed a black tricorn atop the coat where it lay on the cot. "Give me the brush and turn around."

Five minutes later, her hair lay in a tight queue down her back, tied with a black ribbon. "A bit long, but most gentlemanly for all that," Jack said. Then they both started at a rap on the door. "A minute!" Jack called, and, to her, "Quick, put the coat on so he gets the full effect."

"Who?" she asked, struggling into the heavy garment.

"Bootstrap." Jack straightened the collar for her, then snatched up the tricorn and placed it atop her head at a jaunty angle. He smirked, satisfied, and she blushed again.

"Jack?" came Bootstrap's voice through the door.

"Aye! Come in!"

Bill did, saw her, and his handsome face lit with surprise. "Well, what've we here, Jack? As likely a lad as I've seen this twelvemonth!"

"Your cousin Granger, Bill – don't you recall? Mary's sister sent him to visit and learn the ways of a _merchant seaman_."

Bootstrap gave Jack a wry look, acknowledging the hit, but then said to Letty, "Of course. Well met, cousin Granger. You ready for a romp about town?"

"Are you going with us?" Letty exclaimed, vastly pleased.

"I am. Have to ensure my young cousin's safety while he tours the city, don't I?"

"Belay that! I'll be with him," said Jack.

"That's what I mean," said Bootstrap, pointedly.

Jack scowled, and Letty laughed.

**o-o-o**

She laughed a great deal that morning, which did nothing for her peace of mind. That this was somehow a betrayal of Brian, not dead a week, was ever 'neath the surface of her thoughts. But, as Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap Bill strode along, radiating confidence, cheerful bravado, and a hearty, manly kindness that sprang as much from strength as good nature, she failed to see how she could have helped succumbing to the prevailing spirit of the day. Brian, wherever he was, would just have to forgive her. God knew she'd enough to forgive _him!_

The trio went first to the market, which consisted of whole streets of shops, cloth-enclosed stalls, and innumerable carts brought in from all around the countryside. The market was enormous, just as Jack had said, and full of the most varied and exotic commodities that could be imagined, everything from bundles of herbs, to uncut jewels, from fine, hand-illuminated prayer books to the furry skins of unfortunate and unidentifiable mammals.

There was a shop that did nothing but exchange money, coins of any origin. Jack and Bill, having concluded the _Pearl_'s real business in Cartagena over the last two days, went there to start, exchanging some of their large gold and silver coins for smaller, more easily spent ones. Jack slipped a handful of these into Letty's coat pocket, much to her delight. She wandered about, perusing the vendors' wares, happy in the knowledge she had the ability to bargain and buy on her own if she liked, though she was careful never to quite lose sight of her escorts.

She bought some bright ribbons, and a square of fabric upon which was embroidered a colorful and intricate scene. She watched the many craftsmen at their work, awed at the results of their marvelous skills: cups, jewelry, shoes, weapons, clothing.

Her attention was arrested at one point by an old crone selling a number of very strange objects, all more or less the same (elongated, cylindrical, tapering at one end), yet different in various aspects (length, width, material, color, texture) and looking remarkably like… like…

Letty jumped as Jack sidled up and whispered enlightenment into her ear. She turned to him, wide-eyed, cheeks aflame. "You're _joking!_"

"Not in the least," he chuckled. "Expensive, they are, too, some of 'em. Would you be needin' a loan?"

She gasped at the very idea, gave him a scathing look, and flounced away to the next stall, followed by his laughter.

She was soon lured back to his side, however. Many of the food stalls were exuding scents that made her mouth water, and, for the first time since she'd left Barbados, she found that she was starving! The comestibles here, however, were much different from solid English fare, and she didn't trust her own judgment in choosing. Jack and Bill both came to her aid, the three of them purchasing and sharing dish after dish, so many wonderful things that finally Letty was almost ill of the surfeit.

"Let's go sit in the shade for a bit," said Jack, but, true to form, surprised her by leading the way to the enormous cathedral, which lay on the north side of the market.

The three of them entered the cool, dim space, quiet as mice, though the place was nearly deserted. Letty stared in fascination at her first sight of a Papist church, the little dishes holding "holy water" near the doors, the banks of candles, the gruesome or glorious statues, the colorful painting adorning the whitewashed walls, the rays of the sun shining down from the high, deep-set windows, the magnificent altar that appeared to be constructed entirely of gold, but made poignantly human by the many flowers provided by the faithful.

They found an out of the way place to sit, and spent a restful time whispering together, or just enjoying the odd serenity of the place. Near the end of their visit, during one of those quiet lulls, Letty said a silent, sincere prayer for her Brian. And felt better for it.

Then Jack Sparrow took her hand, and said, "Ready to move on and see some more?"

She looked up at him, and nodded, smiling.

**o-o-o**

Jack and Bill wandered about town, showing Letty the sights, and occasionally hailing acquaintances, friends who lived in Cartagena or crewmates on leave from the _Black Pearl_. Letty was invariably introduced as "Cousin Granger", and this was always accepted at face value, though the Pearls they met usually seemed amused as they nodded and looked Bill's "relative" over with an appreciative eye. Letty's tentative efforts to adopt what she fancied were the mannerisms of a stripling just out from England met with indifferent success. Jack laughed outright, in fact, which inspired Letty to pull an offended face, then skip away with startled laughter of her own as he came after her, threatening to defend his dignity by "dusting" her backside. She subsequently abandoned the play-acting in favor of polite silence during their social encounters, or, if pressed, replied in deep-toned monosyllables that (she felt) did little to convey an impression of intelligence. However, in most respects she enjoyed the part she played that day exceedingly. Whether it was the comfortable, nicely concealing clothing, the excitement and satisfaction of seeing a new place unhindered by the inconveniences attendant upon females, or merely the easy camaraderie between her and her escorts, she had never in her life felt such a bloom of confidence and sense of freedom.

In midafternoon they came upon Cartagena's opera house, and joined the stream of eager citizens making their way inside the large, ornate structure, where the visiting troop of actors would perform. Jack paid for a balcony box, somewhat to Letty's relief – the pit seemed full of noisy ruffians. The play performed was Calderón's _Circe_, a _comedia_ that was more dramatic spectacle than rollicking wordplay, and performed in Spanish besides. However, her swains were very good about explaining the action, even translating where necessary. Jack seemed most fluent in the language, and for considerable periods of the two hours Letty sat with her head cocked against his, listening to his seductive, gravelly voice murmur lines or even whole passages for her edification. These were interspersed with his own humorous embellishments and asides, and she was hard pressed to subdue the laughter that came all-too-readily, and often at the most inappropriate moments.

During the interval, Bill went to buy refreshments, and Jack entertained Letty with a story of his time as a cartographer's apprentice in Bristol. He had formed a clandestine association with the town's own troop of actors and, for a few glorious weeks, had trod the boards himself. "Even played Juliet once – they were short of females at the time. I was good, too."

"Better than I at being a man?" asked Letty, provocatively.

"Oh, infinitely, my word on't. But, alas, my master found me out one night and it was all up. Talk about dusting of backsides!"

"Oh! He _didn't!_"

"'Course 'e did. Had a wicked way with a birch, too, the old devil. I stayed another year, though, 'til he'd run out of things to teach me. Then I hopped a ship bound for the East Indies an' never looked back."

"I'm very glad to hear it," Letty said firmly.

"Are you now?" Jack smiled.

"Yes. Was it a pirate ship? The one you 'hopped'?"

"Oh, no. In Bristol? That'd be a sight! No, a merchantman. Good Captain and mate on 'er, though – they knew their business. Some thought 'em too hard, but for me it was like gettin' free of gaol. It'd been three years since I'd been on a ship, but I hadn't forgotten anything."

"Three years? How old were you? When you were first on a ship?"

A shadow passed across Jack's mobile face, but he said, "Not quite thirteen," lightly enough.

Letty wanted to ask more, but just then Bill returned with the wine and some cakes. Shortly thereafter the second act of the play commenced, as did Jack's witty narration. Her questions would have to wait.

**o-o-o**

The play had ended to wild applause, whistles, and shouts of approbation. The trio rose from their seats and left the box. Letty was floating on a cloud of well-being, and followed along after Jack and Bill as they descended the wide staircase. The two agreed that further libations should be procured without delay and had just begun a lively debate on the merits of the various taverns in the vicinity when they reached the floor of the lobby and Jack stopped short at the sound of a female voice.

"Jeeack Sparrrrow! _Mi amor!_"

Letty heard Bill say a quiet, "Uh oh!" and peeked curiously 'round his shoulder.

"Señora del Amador!" Jack exclaimed, and caught the hands of an amazing creature, black-haired, black-eyed, with silky skin of palest gold, all heavy, perfumed velvet and satin overlaid with more glint and shine than Letty had ever seen on a woman. Her well-rouged lips shone where her little pink tongue had just licked them; her eyes sparkled with gleeful design, traveling down, then swiftly up to settle on Jack's own, which lit in kind. He studied the Señora with equal frankness, and undisguised admiration: the beautiful face; the elegant neck; the full, perfect, creamy bosom, a great deal of which was revealed by the alarmingly low neckline of her gown, and was in addition adorned with an ornate necklace of heavy gold set with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds.

Jack smiled as the crowd flowed around them, listening to the Señora chatter. Presently he made introductions – "Bill, you remember the Señora? Granger, Señora Esmarelda del Amador, a friend of mine." The Señora nodded, and curtsied slightly, but then ignored Bill and Letty, continuing to speak to Jack.

Letty didn't understand the words, but she didn't like the Señora's tone at all. Bill cleared his throat, trying to get Jack's attention, and Letty bit her lip, sensing what was about to occur.

She hated being right, sometimes.

Jack turned to Bill. "Bill, the Señoras husband is from home and she has need of… of _advice_. An important matter. Can't wait. You can take care o' Granger here for a bit, eh? I'll catch up with you later."

"Jack…" began Bill.

But the Señora had already linked her arm with Jack's and towed him away, toward the doors.

Letty spoke very little on the way back to the harbor. She tried to make light of Jack's defection, at first, but finally, seated in the jollyboat while Bill rowed them out to the _Black Pearl_, she fell silent and abstracted.

When they were nearly there, Bill stopped rowing and looked at her seriously, as they bobbed about on the light chop. "Mrs. Granger…"

His dark eyes were full of sympathy and worry. She smiled. "It might as well be Letty, after the day we've had, don't you think?"

He nodded. "Letty, then. Ma'am… are you all right?"

She gave a sad little laugh. "Foolish, am I not? But yes, I will be all right."

Bill searched for words, and finally said, "That Jack, he's an odd one, sometimes."

But Letty shook her head. "We both know there's nothing odd about it. He'd consider it foolish not to take what is laid before him."

"She's the wife of a villain. They're playin' with fire, the both of them."

Letty shuddered.

Bill noted it, and said remorsefully, "Now, now. I shouldn't have said anything. The wicked flourish like the green bay tree, lass. Jack'll be back, later, you may lay on't."

"Tonight?"

Bill's mouth twisted. "Maybe."

"But probably not."

"Probably not," agreed Bill.

**TBC**


	8. Parts 24 to 26

**-- 24 --**

It was nearing the end of the first watch. Bill had just thrown in a hand of losing cards and was about to take himself off to catch a bit of shuteye when, to his surprise, the First Mate climbed up the Jacob's Ladder of the _Black Pearl_, looking like the cat who'd got the cream and smelling, just faintly, of perfumed Spanish strumpet.

"God's Teeth!" Bill exclaimed. "Get yourself over to the water barrel, Jack, and wash off some of that stink. What'd she do? Pour perfume on you?"

"It's not near that bad!" Jack protested, making an elaborate show of sniffing at himself.

Bill's fellow card players laughed, but Bill shook his head. "It _is_ that bad," he asserted, and added in a low voice, "Letty's already fit to be tied. She'll be like to murder you if you show up like this."

"That right?" Jack chuckled.

"Ain't no laughing matter, old son, not when you're still cabin mates for the next week or more."

"True enough," Jack conceded. "Come keep me company while I wash up."

Bill followed Jack abaft, to where the water barrels sat, brimming over with cool, fresh rainwater. Jack shoved a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a cloth-wrapped object. "Here, hold this," he said to Bill, with a gleeful look. Bill took it and immediately frowned. It was heavy, loose, and hard, like a…

"Bloody hell!" He undid the knot on the handkerchief (for that's what the wrapping was) and his worst fears were confirmed. The Señora's necklace! "Jack, d'you have a death wish?"

Jack, who'd taken off his coat and was pulling at the ties of his shirt, grinned. "Naw. It'll be fine, Bill. You'll see."

"I'm like to see you gutted and laid out to dry," Bill growled, "or flayed with a dull knife! She's bound to know who did it!"

"Why?" Jack stripped off his shirt and tossed it atop his coat. "Half the town saw her wearin' it --- anyone could've broken in an' stolen it. Security's lax, give you me word!"

"You were in her house!"

"Ah, but _I_ was otherwise occupied, wasn't I?"

"I don't know. Were you?"

"Of course, had to distract her!" Jack batted his absurdly long lashes and murmured seductively, "I'm very, very good at distraction when I set me mind to it."

Bill shook his head. "She's bound to suspect."

Jack shrugged and, toeing off his boots, said, "She can suspect all she wants, but she won't tell. After all, what would dear Don del Amador say, hmmm?"

Bill nodded, reluctantly. "There is that. Don't s'pose he'd be best pleased knowing she'd been entertaining you while he was away."

Jack gave a snort. "She'd not sit for a fortnight – if he didn't just chuck 'er out the door. Jealous sorts, these Spaniards."

"Aye. But he'd kill _you_."

"Aye. But it's a moot point. She won't tell. Probably won't even miss the thing 'til we're halfway to Barbados. Like I said: I distracted her most thoroughly. Sound asleep when I left."

Bill smiled crookedly. "You're a devil, lad. With the devil's own luck. You'd best hope it holds."

"It will," Jack said, complacently, and taking up the dipper began to sluice himself with fresh water. "So Letty's fit to be tied, eh?" he said, with studied nonchalance.

"She is. She's been in your things."

"What?" Jack frowned. "Which things?"

"Your sea chest. I took her some supper and lit the lamp for her, and she'd got a great mess of your things strewn about the cabin."

"Damnation!"

Bill shrugged. "She was stuck in there alone all evening. You can't really blame her."

"I _can!_" said Jack, scowling. "She did it because she was vexed, is all."

"Well, you can't blame her for that, either, think on. You'd reneged on your promise to show her a good time. _And_ she thought you'd be out all night with the Señora."

Jack's scowl held for a bit longer, then an eyebrow quirked, and finally a narrow-eyed smirk appeared. "Thought I'd be gone all night, eh?" He grabbed a clean cloth from a nearby hook and began to dry himself. "I daresay she'll be in for a little surprise then, won't she?"

Bootstrap frowned. "You be good to her, Jack."

"And when have I been otherwise?" Jack demanded, exasperated. "I told 'er to stay out of my chest, though, and I'll be damned if she don't owe a reckoning for it." He took the wrapped necklace back, and returned it to the pocket of his coat, though he didn't dress again, just grabbed up his clothes and boots.

"What sort of reckoning?" demanded Bill, suspicious.

"Ooooh, a terrible one. Terrible!" Jack shook his head sadly, all facetious drama as he walked away across the deck. "But it won't be more'n she's expecting, Bill, you may lay on that." And the scoundrel winked, and flashed a golden smile.

**-- 25 --**

After Bootstrap Bill had brought her back to the _Black Pearl_ and the sanctuary of Jack's cabin, Letty had found herself unable to refrain from shedding tears over the sudden turn the day had taken when that… that _harlot_ had caught sight of Jack and _commandeered him_, without so much as a by-your-leave. Not that Letty would have given her a by-your-leave, or indeed anything save a hard slap across her beautiful, sly face! The mental picture of a great, red handprint marring that creamy skin almost had the power to satisfy. Almost.

And then, through her tears, Letty gave a bitter laugh.

She had no right to claim Jack Sparrow as hers. It was ridiculous. Or wishful thinking, perhaps: after all, she did belong to him in one very real sense, and she had grown accustomed to thinking that the tie made him hers as well, at least a little. But this had no basis in fact.

She was a fool.

After that she became angry. Angry at herself, first, then angry with him. It was true that there was no reason for her to expect any consideration for her feelings, other than what suited his convenience. And yet, she _did_ expect it. It had been _her_ day, and he had ruined it!

She felt like a petulant child. She felt like _throwing_ things. At _him_, if he'd been there. But he was not, of course. And there was nothing much to throw in any case, as he kept most of his belongings neatly stowed in the forbidden sea chest.

A mulish look came into her face at that thought. It seemed grossly unfair that she should be confined to this tiny cabin with nothing to do while he was still consorting with that… _female_. She had finished the book she'd been reading, just the night before. She must have another, and she knew exactly where to get one.

And there would be many other things she might find of interest in his sea chest, as well.

It was quite late – she'd heard the bells sounding the end of first watch. Surrounded by much of the contents of Jack's sea chest, Letty was sitting cross-legged on his cot and frowning at the small but particularly intriguing object that lay in her hand when the knock came_: twice, then twice again_.

_Bill!_ she thought, pleased that he should have returned to bid her good night. He would probably scold, and exhort her to put Jack's things away, as he had done when he'd come to see her earlier, but he might be willing to answer some questions about their wayward friend. She carefully climbed from the midst of the scattered hoard and went to loose the bolt.

But it was not Bill who opened the door.

"Jack!" she gasped.

A raised brow over narrowed eyes, a curl of lip – Bill must have told him what to expect. She flushed at this betrayal, and more as his eyes flicked from her to the disarray of the cabin. Caught out, indeed. Her heart thumped so loudly she thought he surely must be able to hear it. But then his glance fell on her once more, and he saw what she was holding. All the humor left his face.

"Give me that," he said, his voice as cold as she'd ever heard it.

She held out the exquisite miniature she'd unearthed from deep in his sea chest. He took it, and she backed away as he came into the cabin and shut the door.

He did not look at the small painting, but his hand upon it was caressing, possessive, and Letty knew then that her guess was probably correct: the dark, richly dressed beauty depicted on fine ivory was his mother.

Letty recalled the menace of his words that first night: _You will never mention my mother again_. _Savvy? _But things had changed between them, and her voice shook only a very little now. "She was not _some horrid low creature_, was she?"

Like a swift-moving storm, a number of emotions crossed Jack's countenance before finally settling on an uncharacteristically honest sadness. "No."

"Is she still… living in England."

"No." He lifted his hand and opened it, and studied the likeness for a long moment. Then, abruptly, he closed his hand and put the miniature into the pocket of his coat, slung over his arm. He raised his eyes to hers again. "Her name was Katherine. _Kate._ She died, in childbed when I was twelve. Is that what you wanted to know?"

_I want to know everything!_ Letty thought. But she said, only, "She was very beautiful."

And this seemed to breach his defenses. "Yes. And a beautiful soul, as well." He laid his coat and shirt on the cot, and knelt by the chest to stow his things.

Letty helped by gathering up and bringing him the clothing, books, seashells, small weapons, and other effects she had removed. He spoke as he worked to replace them, his voice carefully light. "_Prettiest Kate in Christendom_ she was. I was a trial to her. Born on the wrong side of the blanket to start, and then… well, difficult cloth to cut, y' might say. But she loved me. My father'd set her up in a cottage, just off his land, near to the village. Convenient, for him. Most of the local citizenry cut our acquaintance, of course. It made for a quiet life. Too quiet. I took to helpin' the Gentlemen – smugglers – when I was nine or so. I knew my father turned a blind eye to their work– liked his French brandy, y'see -- but I'd sense enough to know he'd have me flayed if he found out I worked with 'em, though he never paid me much heed in the ordinary scheme of things."

"Is he alive? Your father?"

"Haven't heard otherwise. Last time I saw 'im was at the funeral, and the way he looked at me…" His voice trailed off, and he shrugged a little, as though to rid himself of the memory.

"But why?" Letty asked, appalled.

He turned to her. "You've seen the picture."

"You… you're very like her."

"I am."

"But I would have thought…"

He shook his head. "He'd cared for her, but after she died I was only a reminder of what he'd lost. Of what had killed her. So he sent me away. A year as cabin boy on one of his family's ships. Then three years apprenticed to old Deveral, before I escaped."

Letty swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," he said, mildly. "I told you to stay out of my things."

She stared at him. "Not that!"

He stopped to return her regard. "No?" He cocked his head, considering her. "Well, p'rhaps I'll forgive you anyway, this time. As for the other: there's no need. I've had it a great deal better'n some, and the past is past. Savvy?"

"Y-yes," said Letty.

Jack nodded. "Always best to keep your eye on that horizon."

Letty did not reply. But she could not help thinking that the same might be said of her own situation.

**-- 26 --**

The next morning, Knacker was lowered into a waiting cutter by way of a sling. Jack remained stone-faced as he supervised the proceedings, though inwardly he both winced and smiled grim satisfaction at the man's pain. The blackguard'd be a while healing, but he'd no longer be doing it on the _Black Pearl_.

Still, Jack considered that he had reason to be grateful to the man, so he didn't say much as Knacker groaned and cursed crossing the choppy bay, nor as they carried him, laid out on a makeshift stretcher, to a decent inn hard by the harbor. They planned to leave him there, ensuring his care with a small bag of coin. Knacker was far from philosophical about this, and set up a litany of venom and vitriol as soon as he'd recovered from being lifted onto the bed.

"Y' bloody git!" he hissed at Jack. "Maroonin' me here 'cause o' that milk 'n' water _bitch_, an' here's me with me good sword arm an' skill before the mast. Tobias is an _arse_, and you're soft, boy, soft as they come!"

Jack's lip twitched, and he leaned on Knacker, just a bit, enough to make him purple up. He said, silkily, "I'm thinkin' you'd be dead if I was any harder, mate. And if you were better off now I'd slit your tongue, speakin' like that of a lady."

"_Lady!_" Knacker gasped. "So she ain't even beddable. Bloody hell! Should thank you for sparin' me the effort. I'd not take her if y' _paid_ me!"

But Jack, thinking of the many faces of Lettice Granger, merely laughed at this. "More fool you, then, eh?" He patted his erstwhile opponent (none too gently) on the cheek, and turned to his companions. "Let's go lads," he said, cheerily, and left without a backward glance.

**o-o-o**

**TBC **


	9. Parts 27 to 29

**-- 27: Trial -- **

Now the _Black Pearl_ weighed anchor and set her course for Barbados and Brian's uncle, the wealthy Mr. Mordecai Huff. The seas were calm, the winds light but steady. Jack said it should take them four days sailing to reach their destination.

"At least you're not likely to be sufferin' from _le mal de mer_, eh?" Jack said.

Letty said, wryly, "No, thank Heaven."

Jack had brought her up onto the quarterdeck to view the spectacular sunset and they stood together, watching the dolphins that swam swift and lithe beside the ship, or gamboled in its sparkling wake. Letty raised her eyes to sweep over the queenly vessel. The _Pearl_ moved over the water under dark clouds of full, billowing sail, her masts and yards and stays and all the edges of her limned in gold from the westering sun. Like a storm, she seemed, a force of nature, beautiful and terrible.

"What will you do when she's yours?" Letty asked, and her heart warmed as a smile transformed Jack's face.

"I'll make her mine, body and soul. She'll take us to the corners of the earth, the finest, most fiercesome band of pirates ever seen. The East Indies, first. I was there a few years back. Ripe for plucking, the VOC. Then, when it gets too warm, maybe further east for a bit. There's thousands of little paradisiacal islands, and _Terra Australis_, too – that's as big as Europe, or bigger. Beauty, and riches, and adventure. We'll have it all at our feet. And then, when the holds are loaded full of the best swag, we'll sail West, again."

"Will you stop in England?"

"Lord, no! Too cold there, both in the physical and the metaphorical sense. Why?" He looked at her, and smirked. "Will you miss me, love?"

She flushed, but returned his regard, steadily. "I certainly won't _forget_ you."

He nodded. "Good enough. That's ever an object with me, that _not forgetting_." And yet he sounded a little wistful as he said this.

But Letty would not elaborate. She would not tell him that, in spite of everything – _everything_ consisting (mostly) of his sudden and apparently satisfying reunion with the Señora Esmarelda del Amador – she would not only remember him, but would long for him in a way to which no female with the smallest pretension to honor or gentility could admit.

No, she would not forget him. Early on in their association, she had formed a habit of studying him, carefully, covertly, memorizing every detail of his appearance: the elaborate clothing, the elegant, be-ringed hands, the calculated savagery of his hair, the youthful incompleteness of his beard. And his face: the lovely curve of jaw and cheek, the wide dark eyes, the perfection of his nose. Each beautiful in itself; together, nothing short of breathtaking. And yet there was more, the things that made him human, and (she could barely admit to herself) _loveable_: the innumerable, fascinating expressions that flitted 'cross that face, his voice, rough and melodious all at once; his movements, fey and graceful and skilled, even in drunken reverie. His courage. His laughter. His kindness.

Although it had not been kind of him to go with the Señora. She was still surprised he had done it.

Letty frowned. She should not be surprised. She almost felt like weeping again, and looked away, so he would not see. The incident had set a wall between them. Jack had not apologized for it, and she knew he would not.

And yet… she still could not resist him. Oh, it was well she would soon be gone, for she wanted him, in every way, even some that she could barely allow herself to imagine. And she wanted him to have his heart's desire – whatever in the world that might be.

**-- 28: Slip --**

Jack liked women. All of them, highborn and low—who generally knew the game—and even those drab, middling ladies–who often did _not_ know it, and tended to be more trouble than they were worth. Mrs. Lettice Granger definitely belonged to the latter group. Jack had known quite well what he was doing when he'd gone merrily off with Esmarelda del Amador, leaving Letty gaping in his wake. That there would henceforth be considerable awkwardness between Jack and his "captive" was a given, and it was a price he'd been willing to pay. Letty was attracted to him, as most women were, and Bootstrap had the truth of it: no good could come of it were she to yield to her baser instincts. Jack had to be wise for both of them.

All very right and reasonable.

The difficulty was, there was something about Letty that he found oddly appealing, even when she was at her worst, which she surely had been, at times, in their first days together. Somehow, amid their trials and tribulations, and the intimacies of close proximity, the seemingly ordinary Mrs. Granger had insinuated herself into Jack's thoughts more completely than he would have imagined possible even a sennight previous.

The result of this constant awareness was that Jack had rarely felt the prick of desire (ha!) so strongly, yet was unable (or rather, _unwilling_) to remedy the matter in the way he'd prefer. Not if he wanted to be wise. Or honorable.

It was putting him in a temper.

One would have thought the sport he'd enjoyed with the eager and experienced Esmarelda would have dulled the edge of his lust for the querulous widow, but that had not proven to be the case. He often tried to remind himself of Letty's many faults, the numerous incidents that had sorely tested his patience. But her initial dramatics seemed almost justifiable at a few days remove, and his annoyance was further eased by his burgeoning appreciation of her person. Really, she was a pretty thing. Particularly when stripped of clothing.

Now _that_ thought was hardly calculated to curb his appetite. And his glimpse had been on that first night, when she'd been sick with tea and fear.

So she'd be even prettier in more auspicious circumstances.

"Bloody hell!" he muttered aloud.

"What's toward, lad?" demanded the Captain.

Jack looked up, angry and sheepish. "It's naught."

"The lass, eh?" Tobias' eyes sparked with laughter. "Only two more days and you can kiss 'er goodbye. Not in front of Huff, of course."

Jack smiled, but humorlessly.

But just then, a call from the lookout far above sounded. "_Ship ahoy!_"

"_Where away?_" roared Tobias.

The lookout called the heading as Jack groped for his glass, to no avail. "Damnation, I've left me glass in the cabin. What is she, d'you think?" he demanded of his mentor.

"Damnation indeed. She's big – might be a treasure ship, might be Royal Navy. Run and get your glass, lad: I want you up on the maintop quick, watchin' 'er."

Jack ran, quick as he could, any thought of the widow Granger vanishing in the excitement of prospective action. He pounded across the deck and down the steps, then raced down the passage to his cabin door. It stuck, slightly, then gave way to his impatient jerk.

If the previous minute had sped as fast as his feet, the next fraction of one came to a dead stop. Letty. Slim, damp curves of pale pink. Flaxen hair, loosely pinned up off white shoulders. Bare feet, a towel spread on the sole beneath them, a bucket of fresh water near them. Wet cloth in hand. Bathing. _Naked_. Blue eyes widening. Breasts (perfect and coral-tipped: his hands, his fingers _itched_) heaving on a gasp. Her unoccupied hand moving to cover that _other_ scant flaxen hair.

He slammed the door shut, closing her in, him out, gasping himself, waiting for the shriek.

It didn't come.

"Letty!" he called, his voice hoarse. "I need my glass! In the chest! Can you get it?"

"Y-yes," came the answer.

He stood with his back against the door, eyes closed, teeth set, the pounding of his heart an echo of the pounding feet above them. Another long, long minute.

Then, "Come in, then." Her voice tight, but not tearful.

He swallowed hard, turned and jerked the door open. She was standing behind it, a blanket about her, clutched close, her hand white-knuckled against her chest. She held out his glass, chin lifted, her lips set in a not-quite-firm line.

She was not hysterical, by any means, and his relief was such that good humor returned in a rush. Grinning crookedly, appreciatively, he took the glass, and at the same time slipped his other hand behind her head and swiftly kissed her on her surprised lips. "Don't worry. It's all right," he told her.

As he closed the door and ran topside he wondered what he'd meant by that. And if it was true.

**-- 29 --**

It was not _all right_. Not by any means.

After Jack left the cabin, Letty could barely contain herself. She angrily set the bolt with the deliberate care she should have used earlier, then threw herself down on his cot and gave a dry sob of fury. And mortification. And… and…

And what?

She wrapped the blanket tight around her and curled onto her side, facing the bulkhead. Tears, which she felt would be more than appropriate, would not come, though her breast heaved with agitation.

_Don't worry. It's all right. _

What an absurdity!

How could it be all right when her skin burned as though his gaze upon it had seared her! And the back of her neck, where he had caught her. And her lips, where he had kissed her.

Where she longed again for his kiss.

"Oh!" she exclaimed and turned onto her back. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, and there he was again, staring at her, taking in her nakedness with startled, but undisguised fascination.

She opened her eyes, and said aloud to the paneled ceiling. "Jack Sparrow, you are an evil, evil man."

**o-o-o **

And then, to add to her discomfort, he would barely speak to her when he returned! Which was not for several hours.

"Sorry about this afternoon, lass," he said, chucking her under the chin.

She set her teeth.

"We'd sighted a ship, but turned out 'twas Royal Navy. We've laid on sail and shown 'em our backside. It'll add a day to our journey, but that can't be helped."

"How very inconvenient for you," Letty said, stiffly.

"And you, eh?"

She hesitated only a very little before replying, "Of course."

They dined with the Captain, along with William Turner and Hector Barbossa. She did not think it her imagination: Jack's manner was less attentive than usual. And he excused himself before the fruit and nuts were laid before them. "Bill will see you back to the cabin. I've got some business to take care of."

Later, walking back across the deck with Mr. Turner, Letty _did_ feel like weeping. But that was ridiculous. She should be thankful for Jack's restraint. His… his indifference.

**o-o-o**

Perversely, she was not thankful.

She was left to her own devises a great deal during the next two days, and therefore mostly confined to Jack's cabin. When he did come for her, to take her topside for "an airing" or to the Great Cabin for a meal, he seemed almost annoyed, then behaved very coolly to her.

He did not retire until late each evening, when she might have been presumed to be asleep. He did not bother to light the lantern, but she could hear him in the blackness, moving about as he stripped off his clothing, climbed into the hammock, composed himself for slumber. Letty lay long awake, listening to the quiet of the _Pearl_'s fair weather lullaby, the rush of waves washing against her sides, the creak of her dark wood. She listened, too, for the gentle snoring that usually accompanied the sleep of her captor, but that did not come.

**o-o-o**

The morning of their final day at sea they broke their fast with Captain Tobias. He said they'd arrive at Barbados by dawn of the next day, though they would anchor some way from Bridgetown.

"Jack, you'll go to contact Huff as soon as may be, but go warily: we don't want any mishaps. You know the way. Too many of Georgie's ships hoverin' about here."

They began a discussion of the various naval ships that might be in the vicinity. Not a subject to which Letty could contribute much. She sat brooding, picking at her food, and watching Jack, discretely.

He had been quite brusque with her earlier, when she had been slow in preparing to go up to the Great Cabin. Her hair again. He'd grabbed the brush from her and snapped, "Here, I'll do it. What a helpless goose you are! Turn around." He'd not touched her hair in two days, yet now he was insisting! She had wanted to refuse him, but her voice caught in her throat and her eyes stung. From his expression, she was sure he would hurt her, and steeled herself. But he had not. He had been as careful as ever, though he was silent throughout. A single tear did escape, to slip down her cheek. She quietly brushed it away, and, though she thought he must have noticed, he had said nothing.

He seemed subdued this morning, as though it was an effort to maintain his usual cheerful energy. His great, dark eyes looked tired. He hadn't slept well.

Just as she had not.

When they were through with breakfast, Bootstrap was again assigned the task of returning her to the cabin. She said little as he escorted her back across the deck and down into the heart of the ship. But when they reached Jack's cabin door, Letty turned to Bill, peering up at him in the dim light.

"May I ask you something?"

Bill looked rueful and somewhat wary, but said, "Of course, ma'am."

"Is he… is he _angry_ with me?"

Bill laughed shortly. "No! With circumstances. Or himself, maybe."

"But he's been so different, since… these last two days."

He frowned. "He's doing his best, I think. To keep a respectful distance. It ain't easy here, in the confines of a ship, and with you in his cabin day and night. I don't know what happened between you two days ago, but it's pushed him right to the edge. He's trying to keep his distance so he won't do something he'll regret."

She stared, a frisson of… of _something_ coursing through her. And yet she spoke again, wanting more. "Something he'll regret?"

"Or that _you_ will." Bill shook his head. "Come now, ma'am, you know what I'm speakin' of."

Letty opened her mouth to deny it, but felt her cheeks growing hot, with shame, and with an odd sort of joy. She was very thankful that Bill could not see her clearly. But then it was possible he heard it in her voice, anyway.

"Yes, Mr. Turner. I think I can guess."

**o-o-o**

** -- TBC --  
**


	10. Parts 30 to 32

Note: It's possible this might be considered soft 'R', rather than PG-13.

* * *

**-- 30 --  
**

One more night. God's teeth, but he'd be glad to be rid of her. To have his cabin to himself, uncompromised by the sounds, scents, and sights of winsome, helpless widow. One more night. If he didn't go quite mad before it was over.

He was doing his best, really he was. To stay away. Avoid temptation. Refrain from simply grabbing her and having his way with her, letting his body and mind become reattuned while showing her the delights that were Jack Sparrow and Lettice Granger. She'd had a taste of the former, which would no doubt ease his way, but he wondered if she had any real inkling of the latter. Somehow, from things said and unsaid, he doubted it.

_Shut up, Jack._ _That door's closed._

He ground his teeth, and tightened his grip on her arm.

"Jack! Mr. Sparrow! _Stop it!_" She dug in her heels, wrenching to a halt.

He scowled at her. And she scowled right back. _Adorable._

_Shut up, Jack_.

"You're hurting me!" she hissed.

He had been, of course. "I'm sorry. Let's just get you to the cabin, shall we? You don't want to be topside tonight. The lads're makin' great inroads on the rum, already."

"And you are, no doubt, eager to lend them aid," she snapped, hurt and contemptuous.

"Precisely, Mrs. Granger. Now if you'll be so good as to step this way. Or would you prefer I get Bootstrap for you?"

Her cheeks went rose pink, and her lips quivered, but she bit back whatever scathing words hovered upon them, turned on her heel and started off across the deck again. He followed along, a few steps behind, eyes sinking from the set shoulders down the straight back to linger on the sway of her skirted hips.

_No harm in looking_.

When they reached the cabin and he'd opened the door for her, she tried once more. "Jack…"

He cut her off. "I'll be late, most likely. Get some sleep. We don't want your uncle thinkin' I've kept you from your rest."

She hesitated, but then gave it up. "No. Of course not. Good night."

She closed the door herself.

**o-o-o**

'Twas wonderful how a half bottle of rum could take the edge off.

As the stars appeared, there was music again. A bit quieter than on Letty's first evening on the _Pearl_, for the sound would carry on the water and they were drawing near to Barbados. The big drums were left below, but Murphy had his flute, and Jeffers his fiddle, and several of the lads were having a competition to see who could dance the maddest hornpipe. Most of them weren't much at it (particularly when jug-bitten), and there was a great deal of laughter amid the shouts and applause. Finally, Darlin' Robert stepped forward, whose well-known prowess was unimpaired even by excessive drink. Jack whistled and stomped and clapped by way of encouragement. The fiddle shrieked, the pipe squealed and Bob was off…and just then there was a hand laid on Jack's shoulder.

"Ye'd best have a care for yer _spoils_, Jack," came Barbossa's gravelly purr, just audible above the racket.

"What? She's… oh, bloody hell." She was _not_ below, where he'd stashed her. She'd come up on deck and was crossing toward him, bold as brass. Well, no. She looked both determined and frightened – as well she might be! He heard Barbossa's chuckle, then general laughter as he strode to intercept her, cursing under his breath. She froze, watching him, almost gathering enough courage to face him down, but failing in the end. She turned and scurried back to the companionway. Raucous approval rang in Jack's ears, and he grinned and bowed elaborately to the company before loping off to catch his errant charge.

But it wasn't like that first night, after all. He went down one flight and there she was, waiting for him, half in shadow.

The voice of wisdom urged caution. This was a bad sign. Could negate his entire Sacrifice of the last several days.

But… _devil take it!_ He shoved wisdom away with rum-induced impatience as he approached, and then the sight of her -- lips parted, breast heaving, and, when he drew close, eyes full of fear and, yes, longing – inspired him to kick it clean over the side.

"Damnation, Letty!" he growled, scolding for form's sake. "What'd you think you were doing up there?" He caught her shoulders.

She'd put her hands up and now they plucked at his shirt. "I… Jack, I wanted you."

"That right?" He bent his head to kiss her, releasing his grip to slip his left arm around her shoulders, intending to tip her chin up with his right hand.

But there was no need. To his surprise, she raised her face to his, arms sliding up about his neck, and spoke one word, breathless but sure: "Yes."

If those other kisses he'd taken had been sweet, this one was far sweeter, for it was _given_ and with her whole heart. In the midst of it, she made a little formless sound, and he started to draw back, but she'd have none of it. He let his right hand wander, and there were more sounds, but she did not pull away.

Finally, he made her stop. He said, soft against her lips, "Letty…"

"I shall never see you again, after tomorrow," she whispered, rather fiercely, and she kissed him, at length, ending it by nipping gently at his lower lip.

He smiled his delight. He murmured, "Housing a vixen in my cabin!" and she smiled too. Once more: "You're certain?"

She pulled on his hair. "Be quiet."

He gave a small chuff of laughter, then did as he was told.

**-- 31--**

In later years, moments of that night would return to Letty…

The desperate longing, something so physical that she'd wondered at the time if she were falling ill, or perhaps going mad. Longing that had overwhelmed her anger and, finally, her fear too, driving her from the cabin to find him. Her agitation at her inability to express what she felt, even to herself, and then her utter relief when her unthinking, instinctive reply, _I wanted you_, was interpreted with such astonishing accuracy.

The rush back to the cabin, Jack's hand gripping hers, pulling her along, the sounds of fiddle and pipe fading behind them. Her impatience at the brief delay as he lit the lamp. A brief awkwardness, then hands pulling at ties, at buckles, at fabric, trying not to tear in their haste, not always succeeding. Excitement. Embarrassment. Shock. Fascination. And pride. That he'd thought her beautiful, all of her, head to toe. That she had so obviously made this man want her, his desire equal in measure to her own.

The startling differences between Jack and her late husband. Skin, deep gold, not unmarked, yet lovely both in itself and in contrast to her own fairness; a lithe, strong body that begged to be touched everywhere, in every way. No voluminous nightclothes between them. No silent rucking up of her gown, or clumsy weight upon her, or wet kisses, or fumbling, gripping hands.

And no pain.

_That_ had been a revelation. That she could be so caught in need that, in spite of their haste that first time, she was ready for him. More than ready. Slick heat and a strangled howl had met his touch, and, though his obvious intention was to gentle her, ease her into the way of it, it was she who wouldn't have it, she who lost herself. A babbling stream of whispered praise and oaths. The feel of him, his trembling intensity combined with his failing efforts at restraint.

Restraint be damned!

And damned it was, most thoroughly, to the music of their combined cries.

Thank Heaven for the covering noise of fiddle, pipe, and pounding feet, far above them.

**o-o-o**

Satiation had been remarkably brief. But she'd given way to him after that, trusting him, letting him take the lead, slowly, surely.

How strange it was, she remembered thinking. How strange… and how perfect.

**-- 32 --  
**

Predawn darkness. Post-rum muzziness. Sight was impaired, but scent and touch were not, and memory returned in startling, scattered fragments. The warmth lying all along his side was Letty's. It was her nakedness moving sleepily against his own. Her hand that drifted over his chest, then lower, over his stomach, lingering shyly.

The voice of wisdom might raise another belated protest, but his body knew no such ambivalence. He turned toward her, caught the questing hand and moved it lower still, to its improper destination, and found her lips with his own. She murmured approval beneath his kiss.

He smiled. "Again?"

"Yes."

**o-o-o**

**TBC**


	11. Parts 33 to 35

**-- 33 --**

He was gone when she woke.

Admittedly, it was long past dawn, as she could tell by the light. The motion of the ship was different, too. They were not at sea. Barbados, then. And Jack was gone to see her uncle.

She lay for a long time, thinking. Of the things they had done the night before. She should be ashamed. So wanton. So unprincipled. She should be afraid, as well, for it was always possible he'd got her with child.

She bit her lip at that last thought, but the frisson that swept through her was not precisely fear.

Nor was she ashamed.

But… she could not help feeling it a bad sign that Jack had left the cabin without waking her. Did he regret what they had done? It might be. She knew now that Bootstrap Bill had been correct in his assessment of the situation.

She rose from the bed, betimes, evocative scents wafting up from the bedclothes as she did so. Reed would not be fooled for a minute. Nor Bootstrap if he happened by. She frowned over it, and ended by making up the cot herself, though she knew even that would be of little use in so small a space.

Jack had brought her fresh water, and a plate of fruit and biscuit. She washed, carefully, and dressed herself, ignored the food, and sat down on the cot, tried to read and fell asleep again.

A knock roused her sometime later, but it was Bootstrap who called through the door. "Mrs. Granger?"

"Coming!" She scrambled up, patted at her hair and straightened her gown before opening the door a crack.

"Jack wanted me to check on you, ma'am. He's gone to contact your uncle. Would you like to take a turn around the deck? 'Tis a pretty harbor we're in."

"I'd like that."

"Reed's gone off fishing with some of the lads. I'm afraid he'll be late makin' up the cabin."

"Oh! Very well," said Letty, hoping she didn't sound as relieved as she felt.

**o-o-o **

They ate lunch with the captain, who seemed certain that Mordecai Huff would be willing to pay the ransom.

"Jack can be most persuasive, Mrs. Granger. No need to worry your pretty head over it."

Barbossa said, rather slyly, "I must say it _is_ pretty, today. Yer lookin' very well, ma'am. Very well, indeed."

Letty's cheeks grew hot, but her voice was cold as she thanked him.

**-- 34 --**

It was dusk by the time Jack returned to the _Black Pearl_. He went immediately to the captain to report success.

"I told him midnight, at Frenchman's Cove. He'll be there."

"The price?"

"Barely blinked."

"I knew it. He's a wealthy man, old Huff. Probably could've asked twice that and gotten it. But I knew your heart wasn't in it, lad."

Jack shrugged. "We're pirates. It's our way, as you said, John. But aye, it's enough as it is."

**o-o-o**

Bootstrap was waiting for him.

Jack said with a careless air, "How's the lass?"

"Pretty well. Askin' after you, of course. Jack… did anything happen last night?"

"You want me to kiss and tell, again?"

"Was that all it was? Barbossa-- "

Jack cut him off. "A little less curiosity and a little more attention to the ship wouldn't go amiss, Mr. Turner. We're headed 'round to Frenchman's Cove. Have 'em run out the sweeps. Mordecai Huff's expecting us at midnight."

**o-o-o**

It was some time later, and the _Pearl_ was well underway, when Jack went down to his cabin. He'd been on edge all day, uncomfortable guilt warring with extremely pleasurable memories of the previous night. It wasn't entirely clear to him – he'd had a lot to drink. And what he did remember seemed almost a dream. Surely Letty had not been that willing… that eager.

She had been very sound asleep when he'd risen at dawn with a head that made him want to groan aloud. He'd left the cabin quietly, though, and staggered topside to wash himself down with cold fresh water as the _Pearl_ glided into the forest-lined cove.

Barbossa'd come up to him. "How's the girl?"

"Asleep," Jack replied, repressively.

"Worn out, eh?" The second shook his head, sadly, but walked away, chuckling.

She _had_ been worn out. She hadn't stirred when returned to dress, at length and with attention to detail. As he left the cabin he turned to take a last look at her: bare shoulder and arm, white against the rough blanket; pale gold hair tangled and spread about; face flushed and at peace. He'd wanted to kiss those soft, curving lips once more. But he hadn't.

He wondered how peaceful she'd look now, when she'd had all day to think about… things.

**-- 35 --**

Jack must have returned. Letty could tell from the noise and the increased motion of the ship that they were heading out to sea again. But it was long before he came down to the cabin. She sat very straight on the cot in the fading light, pleating the skirt of her gown between cold fingers, growing more nervous by the minute. Perhaps he didn't want to see her. Perhaps he was angry… or now thought her a light woman, of small account, no different than any seaport doxie.

By the time she heard his bootsteps approaching along the passage, she was sure that was it, and when his knock sounded she swallowed hard, rose, and went to the door, bracing herself. She tilted her chin up and opened the door.

He looked more uncertain than she'd ever seen him.

There was silence for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. "The lamp's not lit."

"No."

She opened the door wide so he could enter, then watched as he set about lighting the lantern. It flared, banishing the darkness, if not the shadows. She took in his appearance, noting the care he'd taken in dressing. He was… _beautiful_. Wonderfully exotic, every inch the pirate. "Was Mr. Huff impressed?" She gave a small smile.

He laughed shortly. "Aye. Impressed enough. We're to meet him at midnight, a little cove a few miles from here."

"Was he… upset? About Brian?"

"He'd already heard. Those we sent off in the boats reached land in a day and a half. Sent word to him. That man-of-war we ran across two days back was looking for us."

Letty paled. "Jack! It's too dangerous. You should not be here, near Barbados."

His expression lightened. "We'll see you off tonight and head out."

"What if he warns them? They could send ships to ambush you!"

"He won't. I've told him… well, we'll have a pistol on you. And one on him. I told him to meet us alone, or your lives would be forfeit."

"Oh! Good," she said, relieved.

He gave a lopsided grin and put a hand up, brushing a thumb against her cheek. "Is this the proper attitude for a captive?"

She tilted her cheek against his hand. "I am not at all proper, I'm afraid. You must know that by now." And though she spoke lightly, her eyes filled with tears.

"Propriety be damned," he said, roughly, and, to her relief and delight, he drew her into his arms and kissed her. He then murmured against her lips, "Bloody hell, Letty, you're not weeping again?"

"Yes." She laughed through her tears, and put her arms around his neck. "How glad you will be to be rid of me!"

"After last night? You must be mad." Another kiss, and she trembled with the joy of it.

Her voice trembled, too, when she could speak once more. "Mad indeed, after last night. I shall never, never forget you, Jack Sparrow!"

"Nor I you, Lettice Granger, my word on't."

A third kiss, long and ardent, the two of them lost in an embrace that sought to set these final moments alone in memory.

Which was how they were disposed when the door creaked open.

Jack loosened his grasp and growled, "Bill! What the devil?"

Letty turned, startled, and dismayed at the accusing glare Bill was directing at Jack.

"The captain wants you, Jack. Says to bring Mrs. Granger." Bill then addressed Letty. "I beg your pardon, ma'am. He'd just come down, and I saw that the door wasn't closed. Didn't mean to…"

"Barge in?" Jack supplied, acidly. "Rudely interrupt?"

Bill gave him another scathing look. "She's weeping, Jack. What in blazes am I supposed to think?"

Letty felt Jack stiffen, to issue an angry retort, but she shook her head, and stepped forward. "No! Mr. Turner, truly, I was just being silly." She glanced between them, these fierce, handsome pirates, these two _friends._ How things had changed from that first terrible night, those first days aboard the _Black Pearl_. She smiled, rather mistily, and echoed Jack's nonsensical assurance of two days back: "Don't worry! It's all right."

**o-o-o**

**TBC**


	12. Parts 36, 37 and Epilogue

**-- 36 --  
**

Mordecai Huff was furious. Which was far more stimulating than grief, certainly. For nigh on a fortnight he'd ached with grief, mourning his nephew, whose life had ended on the deck of his company's own ship, and mourning the niece whose fate had been far worse, almost unthinkable. That sweet, timid girl he'd just begun to know, who had been through so much already in following her husband to a new world, a new life. Taken captive by a band of vile cutthroats. Enduring God knew what atrocities. It'd kept him awake at night.

He'd informed the military of the loss, and that his niece might still be alive, and the naval commander had been most sympathetic and cooperative about deploying ships in several likely directions. It had given Mordecai some hope, though he almost dreaded what they might find should they take the _Black Pearl_ and recover Lettice. Barbarous cretins, defiling that pretty innocent. It made him shudder, thinking what she must be suffering.

And now all changed. Well, not Brian's death, or the loss of the _Eliza Mae_. But that… that bizarre young man, with his studied air of villainy, had surprised Mordecai most thoroughly and in several ways.

He'd appeared in the library as if by magic, when Mordecai had been taking his morning coffee and reading one of the latest newspapers he'd received from England. Mordecai had thought it one of the servants opening and closing the door so quietly, and had not even looked up until he'd heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked. He'd looked then, and had drawn breath to cry out at the sight of the startling intruder. But the young blackguard – _Jack Sparrow_ – had aimed the pistol in a businesslike manner and put one long, slightly tar-stained finger to his lips.

Mordecai could have sworn there was a flash of mirth in the black eyes, and when the scoundrel spoke he was certain of it, his words laced with humor in spite of the menace of their content. Lettice was not only alive but quite unharmed, guarded with unflagging diligence by "yours truly", who'd sacrificed his very own cabin to her. There was even an apology of sorts, for the loss of Brian and the ship – _not what we'd intended, I assure you_. _It ain't our way._

But then came the ultimatum: a reimbursement of expenses, a _small_ _contribution_ that Sparrow knew Mordecai would be glad to make, to ensure Lettice's continued safety and return to the familial fold. Mordecai had ground his teeth and asked how much; Sparrow had named the price and Mordecai had nearly fallen out of his chair. Sparrow had shrugged: they had gone well out of their way to return Lettice to her people, but his captain had other viable options, should Mr. Huff prove less attached to his niece than to his gold.

Obviously there had been no choice in the matter.

Having reached an accord, Sparrow had concluded negotiations, at gunpoint but in the politest way possible, by forcing Mordecai into a large cupboard and locking him in. A maid heard his banging and shouts a quarter of an hour later, but by that time the pirate had disappeared. Completely. The servants had seen nothing!

_Bastard!_ Mordecai thought, driving his carriage slowly down the moonlit road to Frenchman's Cove. He would give a great deal to have that rogue Jack Sparrow at his mercy – or at least to truly blacken those laughing eyes, and wipe that arrogant smile away with a fist of rage. A great deal, yes. But he would not give his life – or Letty's.

**o-o-o **

Mordecai could see the dark ship far out on the water and shuddered. Evil men. How Lettice could have remained unmolested these two weeks was nearly impossible to comprehend.

Impossible, too, to get to shore without being seen from afar, or so he would have thought. Mordecai paced the shore of the cove, round the small strongbox full of gold, worrying and waiting. But almost exactly at midnight, a longboat appeared from where it had been secreted behind some offshore rocks, and his niece was in it, seated between Sparrow and another young man who was wielding a pistol and dressed in a hideous red shirt. Two more men rowed the longboat swiftly toward the shore. Mordecai watched their approach, noting Letty's pinched, white face; his hands fisted when Sparrow turned to whisper something in her ear, at which she wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief.

The boat nosed up onto the sand. Mordecai started forward, but the red-shirted pirate brandished his pistol and called, "Stay where you are," in a voice that brooked no defiance. He and Sparrow alighted, boots splashing in the shallow water. Red-shirt kept his pistol aimed straight at Mordecai and walked toward him, but Sparrow turned to Letty with a sharp command. She slid to the side of the boat and Sparrow scooped her up and carried her to shore, letting her down only when they'd reached dry sand.

The tenderness of that gesture was immediately negated by the pistol he withdrew from his pocket and set to her temple, his arm around her, holding her close against him.

Fists were too good for him. He should be flogged to within an inch of his life!

"Bill, get the box!" Sparrow growled, roughly.

The man in the red shirt waved his pistol at Mordecai. "Get back now, sir. Wouldn't want any accidents tonight."

Mordecai stifled the invective that leapt to his lips and complied.

The heavy box was lifted off the sand and taken to the longboat where it was placed on the plank, opened, and its contents examined. "'Pears to be all here, Jack."

A tenseness seemed to leave Sparrow. "Right!" he called, hoarsely, then softer, to Letty, "All's well, lass. You can go to him." And he took his arm from around her and gave her a gentle shove, his pistol still in evidence, however.

Letty stepped forward, slowly, then more quickly, and then in a tearful rush. Mordecai caught her to him and held her as she sobbed. "Hush, sweetheart, it's all over." But she hid her face in his coat, shaking, and would not turn to look at the blackguards, not until they were well away, out of pistol range and rowing fast and sure, back toward the _Black Pearl_.

**o-o-o **

They walked in silence over the sand and up the small rise to where Mordecai had left the carriage. Letty had calmed, though she was sniffing wetly. "I have another handkerchief," she croaked apologetically. She felt about for it, in an inner pocket of her cloak. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and pulled out not only a handkerchief but a small, plainly wrapped package. She daubed at her nose, handing the package to him.

"What's this?" he asked.

She blew her nose efficiently before replying. "It's… it's for us. A gift, he said. Mr. Sparrow, that is. For you and me both. He told me to give it to you to open. He said you'd know what to do with it."

Mordecai frowned, weighing it in his hand. Surprisingly heavy. It was securely wrapped, and he ended up taking out his pocket knife and cutting through the outer layers. Letty watched, curious herself, and when the contents were finally revealed she gasped, "Oh! _Oh!_" and put her hands to her cheeks.

It was a necklace.

A horridly gaudy thing. But Mordecai held it up, examining it in the moonlight, and could not help exclaiming himself. "Good God! It looks to be real!" Heavy gold, diamonds, rubies, and emerald flashed their brilliance.

Letty was staring at the thing, stunned. Mordecai said, contemptuously, "If it _is_ real, the man's not only a blackguard, but a fool. This would be worth a fortune – at least twice what he asked as a ransom!" Letty's eyes met his, and Mordecai laughed grimly. "Aye, a fool. But you may be a rich woman, niece. What say you to that?"

But she had nothing to say, nothing coherent at least, for she covered her face and began to sob again.

**-- 37 --  
**

There was an incident between Jack and Barbossa a fortnight after Mrs. Granger had bid them all adieu. Words of a derogatory nature were uttered by the second in regard to the lady, and Jack could not help but take exception. The resulting injuries left Barbossa with a slightly more lively respect for the first, whom he'd previously considered something of a fribble for all his skill with ship, map and sword. It also silenced him, perforce, until his jaw healed enough to take solid sustenance. Sparrow received a reprimand at the hands of his captain, but the rest of the crew knew it was a token gesture, and Jack himself had no complaint.

He was denied shore leave on their next three stops in port, the last of which was Cartagena. It seemed to suit him, surprisingly enough. He kept to the Great Cabin in the heat of the day, working with the maps and charts that would guide them to the far corners of the world. He walked the deck under the stars in the evenings, joining in the drinking and singing, carousing with his mates, business as usual.

But he'd retire earlier than had been his wont, to the cabin, to the cot he'd once had the privilege to share. And if his thoughts strayed to linger on fair hair running soft between his fingers; on flawless skin, pale against the dark of his own; on eyes blue as the sea he loved; and if his hand strayed, too, lingering where hers had that one joyful night, why who was to say him nay, to deny him the comfort of memory?

**-- Epilogue--**

It had rained every day since Mordecai Huff's arrival in Amsterdam, but on this, the second to the last of his stay, the thin sun of early spring shone, and his business was complete. Soon, his ship, the _Eliza Rose_, would sail for Bridgetown, Barbados and home -- how glad he would be to bask in warmth once more! But today Mordecai was at his leisure and would visit two people he hadn't seen in almost seven years: his nephew's widow and the man she had married, not a month after being returned to safety on that strange night so long ago.

Abram Falko, born of a Dutch father and an English mother, had cut his teeth on trade. He had inherited early, and had taken over his deceased father's business at the ripe age of twenty-one. By the time he'd met the widowed Lettice Granger, several years later, he was well on his way to becoming one of the wealthiest merchants in the West Indies. To some extent this was due to his single-minded focus on business. He had never married, in spite of numerous lures thrown his way, and had seemed to have little interest in settling to a domestic life.

All that had changed the night he'd met Letty.

It had been a week after her rescue from the pirates, and she was just beginning to leave her room in Mordecai's house. To his surprise, she had consented to join him in entertaining a few guests, Falko and two other businessmen and their wives. Predictably, the wives had been cool to the girl, for the circumstances of her survival had not been a secret. Mordecai had thought it most fortunate that, thanks to Sparrow's absurd but useful parting gift, Lettice now had money of her own and need not remarry. She was pretty enough, though still quiet and more prone to tears than ever, but the taint of captivity certainly precluded her desirability as a potential mate.

Or so Mordecai had assumed. Abram Falko had been of another opinion entirely.

It seemed as though Abram had taken one look at her and fallen head over ears in love. Letty had been startled at his attentions, and the wives at the dinner party that night had obviously disapproved. But Abram was a well set up fellow, both in person and estate, and his few rough edges were balanced with an engaging deference to which Letty ultimately succumbed. Within the month, Abram had asked her to be his wife, and Letty had consented.

They married in some haste, for Abram desired to return to Amsterdam. The heat of the Caribbean didn't suit him, and moreover he had reliable underlings to handle his business in the West Indies. He would return to the large, well-appointed house where he'd grown to manhood, install his new bride there and raise a family. Bridgetown had been all agog over the romance, and had twitted Falko on his complete change of heart. He had taken this in stride, however, and Letty herself had such a surprising glow about her that the couple's union was accepted by society with smiles and a fond shaking of heads. _Ah, young love!_

They had corresponded over the years, of course. Abram's business had continued to thrive, which was well: Letty had born several children, one of them not long after the couple was wed, and the youngest scarcely a year ago. Mordecai was not a marrying man himself, but he liked children, and enjoyed the companionship of the happy, lively families he knew among his colleagues. He was looking forward with much pleasurable anticipation to his visit with Abram, Letty, and the three small Falcos.

**o-o-o **

The house, by a tree-lined canal, was impressive, tall rather than wide, and set cheek by jowl with others of its kind. Use of the brass knocker on the neat green-painted door produced a maid, who, on ascertaining his identity, curtsied and bade Mordecai enter.

Letty was coming down the stairs, carrying an infant.

"Mr. Huff, is it indeed you?" she smiled.

She wasn't as slender as she'd been, but she looked healthier – and happier! A woman now, a wife, and a mother. The infant she carried against her hip was a tiny girl, with wide blue eyes and pale, fuzzy hair. She clung to her mother, thumb in mouth.

Mordecai replied, "It is I, certainly, my dear. Though I believe I'm offended that I've been reduced to _Mr. Huff_. Will you not call me Uncle Mordecai, as you were used to do?"

Letty colored prettily. "Of course, uncle. How wonderful to see you, and how good of you to take the time to visit us on your last days here."

Mordecai bowed over her hand. "I wouldn't have missed coming. Far more important than the business for which I came to your fair city."

"It is fair, is it not? I do love it here, for all it is so cold in winter."

"You have Abram and your children to warm you, no doubt. Who is this little one?"

"Sarah Louise. She was a year old last week."

Mordecai took the infant's tiny paw in his own fingers, bent close and gave it a kiss. "How do you do, ma'am?"

Miss Sarah roused from her fascination with Mordecai's bearded face and squealed exception to this familiarity, jerking her hand away to cling and hide against her mother's shoulder.

Mordecai and Letty could not help but laugh, though Letty scolded gently, "Oh, no, my darling, such execrable manners!"

But Mordecai said, "No! It was I who was too forward. She is very right to put me in my place."

Letty kissed the top of the baby's head, then gave her over to the maid. "Thank you, Greta. She should go down for her nap without difficulty." As Greta took the baby upstairs again, Letty turned to Mordecai. "Abram should be back soon. He took our older children on a walk through the park. Will you not come and be seated in our library? I'll send for refreshments."

It was done as Letty had ordered. The library – "My favorite room!" – was nearly as complete as Mordecai's own, and equipped with comfortable chairs and a sofa, as well as a huge cherry wood desk. There was a marble fireplace in which a cheerful blaze was burning. A large tray, laden with a tea service and a plate of sweet cakes, was brought in, but Letty was only pouring out the first cups when the sounds of new arrivals met their ears with a suddenness that caused a startled spill.

"Oh, dear!" She flushed.

"Your husband, I take it?" Mordecai smiled.

"Yes. And the children."

"Mama, mama, mama!" bellowed a youthful voice, and a small red-haired boy rushed into the room. "There was a goose, a big one, and it chased me! And papa says we shall have it for Christmas dinner!"

Letty laughed. "Oh, if it chased you, we must! But make your bow to Mr. Huff, Ephraim. He has come halfway across the world to meet you."

"On a ship?" Ephraim exclaimed, as he obeyed his mother. "_I'm_ going on a ship!"

"Are you? And where will you go?" asked Mordecai, his eyes twinkling.

"Everywhere! Papa says I may, as soon as I'm bigger. Am I bigger yet, Mama?"

But his father and a third child had come into the room, and Abram said, "No, you're not, sprat – no bigger than when you last enquired, which was yesterday, if I recall. Well met, Mordecai! It's been too long."

"It has!" Mordecai stood to shake hands with the younger man. "How good it is to see you, and make the acquaintance of your delightful progeny. But who is this?" Mordecai's gaze was drawn to the girl who had entered with Abram and was now standing by his side.

"Our eldest daughter, indeed," Abram said.

"How do you do, sir?" The girl curtsied, with childish grace, then studied Mordecai, an engaging smile touching her lips.

Time seemed to stop.

She was slender, but well made, and her neatly braided hair was smooth, and long, and dark as night. Dark too were her eyes, wide-set and expressive, and her skin was a flawless pale gold. And there was something about her… her carriage… her expression…

This was not Abram's child, Abram with the auburn hair, who'd given his coloring to the boy.

Nor was she towheaded Brian's.

Mordecai turned to Letty. The young mother did not smile, but neither did she look away.

Mordecai remembered to breathe. And, once he had done so, spoke. "Pardon me. She is beautiful, Letty."

Letty blinked, and took a quick breath herself, her faded color returning. "Yes. Oh, yes!"

"She is the light of our lives, Mordecai," said Abram, and his glance strayed to meet his wife's as he said it.

Mordecai nodded. He held out his hand to the girl. "You must be Katherine, then, are you not?"

"Yes." She took his hand. "But 'Kate' for short."

"'Bonny Kate'!" her brother grinned.

And Abram sealed the matter. "_Prettiest Kate in all Christendom_."

* * *

_**Finis**_


End file.
